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WILDWOOD CHIMES 



EMMA WITHERS 



Whom the gods love dwell with nature." 

Helen Hunt Jackson. 



Sep 7 1891 n > 

CINCINNATI 

ROBERT CLARKE & CO. 

1891 






Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year i8yi, by 

Emma Withers, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington, D. C. 



TO MY DEAR BROTHER, 

J. S. WITHERS, 

MEMORY OF OUR CHILDHOOD DAYS, WHEN I FOLLO^VED HIS FOOTSTEPS OVER 
THE WEST VIRGINIA HILLS, THIS BOOK IS AFFEC- 
TIONATELY INSCRIBED. 

E. W. 



CONTENTS. 



Songs of Life, 

A West Virginia Gra\'e 

To-day, 

The Lady-slipper, 

Silent Cities, 

At Swithin's Run, 

Uncrowned, . 

Nature, 

The Broken Alphabet, 

If, . 

Because of his Love, 

Castles of Hope, 

Midsummer Days, 

St. Valentine, 

In Dreams, 

Life, 

In Camden Wood, . . 

Christmas Bells, 

A Brief Interview, 

Life's Questionings, 

Resurgam, 

In October, 

The Gossip, 



7 


9 


II 


12 


. i6 


i8 


. 24 


26 


. 26 


31 


. 32 


33 


. 35 


37 


.. 38 


. • 43 


44 


60 


. 61 


62 


. 66 


68 


. 70 



Vi CONTENTS. 




Poesy, ...••• 


72 


Memory, . . • • • 


• 73 


Lines, ...••■ 


75 


Dream-Haunted, 


• 77 


My Neighbors, . . • ■ • 


79 


Comrade Wind, . . • • 


. 81 


The Gospel Pioneer, . . . • 


87 


In the Firelight, .... 


■ 90 


At the King's Gate, . . . • 


92 


The Blue Flower, . . . • 


■ 95 


Sons of Cydippe, .... 


97 


Cricket Song, . . • - 


. 100 


Indian Pipes, . . • • • 


lOI 


As Memory Tells it O'er, 


. 102 


The Chieftain's Burial, 


127 


Hepatica, . . . • • 


. 129 


At the Spring, . . • • • 


131 


Hunting the Cows, . . . • 


. 132 



WILDWOOD CHIMES 



WILDWOOD CHIMES. 



THE SONGS OF LIFE. 

OFTEN we heard, my heart and I, 
The songs of Life, and oft did try- 
To find the singer where she lay 
In moonHt roses of the May, 

Or 'mid the sheltered buds that lie 
In sylvan haunts of Arcady. 

We felt her silken tresses oft 
Trail on the breezes, low and soft, 

And heard her foot-falls, light and low, 
Like honey-seekers, come and go. 

But ever there the search did fail. 
■' Beyond the veil, beyond the veil,'" 

Her haunting whisper seemed to say; 
But never could we find the way. 

(7) 



iVILDWOOD CHIMES. 

Still sad or gay, or far or near, 
Her changeful melodies we hear. 

Sometimes the plaintive notes are borne 
Upon the wild bee's silver horn ; 

Again, in numbers soft they sigh 
Across the fields of yellow rye. 

Upon the hum of growing things 
The mystery forever rings, 

Whose meaning all too deep doth lie. 
Yet we have learned, my heart and I, 

The minor chords of many a lay 
The unseen singer of the May 

Sung 'mid the roses long ago. 
All incomplete and faint and low 

The broken notes, fit for the ear 
Of him alone who loves to hear 

The hush of waves against a shore 
That twilight shrouds forevermore. 



A WEST VIRGINIA GRAVE. 



A WEST VIRGINIA GRAVE. 

A BOVE the sheltered valley homes, far off 
^~^ Upon the mountain top there lies a grave, 
And human eye looks not upon the lone, • 
Still splendor of that sepulcher, save when 
Some hunter stays his wandering steps to scan 
With curious eye, the cairn, rude, coffin-shaped 
And gray, o'ergrown with shrubs, and closely clasped 
With twining ivies which the thoughtful years 
Have wreathed among the stones. Above the name, 
If ever name thereon was writ, moss waves 
Long since have rolled. Yet some there are who still 
The broken memories of his story keep. 
A lad who at the first wild war-notes left 
His home beyond, and crossed these rugged heights 
To wear the gray most gallantly, in vain. 
As year on year, the unequal conflict raged. 
Thoughts of his home within the orchard bowers,* 
And the dear faces, long unseen, within 
His bosom grew to desperate resolve. 
A week of journeying by lonely nights, 
His only guides the faintly gleaming stars, 
The whisthng bullet of the hidden foe. 
And then — he passed from sight forevermore. 
Yet lacks he not sweet ministries of love ; 
Weird elegies in quaint, memorial lines 



IQ WILD WOOD CHIMES. 

The many-fingered lichens o'er him trace ; 

Here, in this cleft, her blue eyes full of tears, 

The iris waves; and in her trembling hand 

The columbine holds out her rosy bells 

Like lamps before a shrine ; while round him stand 

In dark unbending pride, the druid trees. 

Here in the twilight comes the whip-poor-will. 

And 'neath the midnight moon the yellow owl 

Pours out her melancholy wail. And here 

Unharmed the lizard suns his emerald sides, 

The mountain-cat leads forth her tawny young. 

What better lot than his ? — to turn aside 

With all life's possibilities untried. 

In the full vigor of his youthful prime, 

While fair Achievement waved her beckoning hand, 

And on the crystal heights of fame, undimmed 

Her radiant watch-lights shone, while 'round him sung 

The silver-throated voices of the dawn, — 

Within this grand cathedral hall, beneath 

The pillared oaks, and ever-changing skies, 

To lose existence ? Nay ; but to become 

A part of bud and leaf, of wind and wave ; 

To murmur in the pine tree's fragrant hair. 

And through the veins of the primeval oaks 

Into the sunshine warm again to creep. 

To join the anthem of the solemn woods : 

'' Fear not; lie down with us, O, child of Earth. 

In this calm faith, all shall be well." 



TO-DA V. 



II 



TO-DAY. 

OSOUL, why sitteth thou so long 
J Beside a dead past making moan ? 
Why wring thy pallid hands and cry : 
" Too late ! " Is not to-day thine own ? 

Thy harvest fields of life are bare, 

No wealth of ripened grain thou hast. 

Thine idle hands were folded close 
Until the sowing-time was past. 

But glean among another's sheaves, 
And starve not for thine early sin — 

A hired hand within his fields, 
Another's harvest gather in. 

Too late, indeed, for thee to build 
The structure of thy visions sweet ; 

Yet thou with helpful hands mayst toil 
Another's labor to complete. 

Too late ! Thy myrtle branches lie 
All withered by the north wind's hate ; 

Yet thou the nettles mayst destroy 
Which grow within another's gate. 



12 WILD WOOD CHIMES. 

The golden sun of hope fulfilled 
Is hidden from thy sky away ; 

Yet light serene and fair still lies 
Upon the pathway of to-day. 



THE LADY-SLIPPER. 

'T'HE morning is before me as I write — 
* A day in June within the school I taught 
In Nomansland. The log-house, low and brown, 
Stands in a woody hollow. Close behind 
It climbs a hill, so close, the squirrels leap 
From the low, birchen boughs upon the roof, 
And chatter in the early dawn. In front 
A streamlet where the water-fairies sing 
Their wordless songs the livelong day. How oft 
The haunting shadows of my life have fled 
From the low music of that mountain rill. 
And just beyond the stream, another height 
Conglomerate, of rock and tree, of ferns. 
And mossy greenness of the creeping plants 
That cling about the base of sheltering cliffs. 
Upon those cliffs the glossy laurel held 
Its pink-rimmed cups o'erfilled with honey-dew; 
While high above the sturdy oak-trees bore 
A colony of nesting crows that seemed 
With shrill, sarcastic laughter oft to mock 



THE LADY SL IP PER. I ^ 

The dreamful hours which gUded by Hke strange 

Sweet flowers that bloom and fade and bear no fruit. 

A fit and chosen haunt it was for all 

The shy, soft-footed children of the woods ; 

And I, long careless grown of frown or smile — 

The caprice of a moment rules them both — 

Took rare delight in the bold confidence 

That twinkled in the round, dark eyes of some 

Brown-striped and furry creature of the hills 

That claimed a morning greeting at my door. 

Within, were benches most grotesquely planned; 

A score of hardy lads and lassies — such 

As all along the common walks of life 

Spring up like ill-trained weeds that might have grown 

Beneath propitious skies to fairest flowers. 

A water-bucket filled with gold and green 

Of ferns and wild azalias from the cliff; 

A lizard basking on the window-sill ; 

And I, presiding genius of the hour. 

There came a splash within the rill, a pause, 

A shadow on the step, and lo, beside 

Me stood, with dripping feet and cheeks aglow, 

A lint-haired urchin clad in home-spun blue. 

Whose deep, capacious pockets yawned with rolls 

Of sappy birch and tender wintergreen. 

One grimy hand an open jack-knife clasped, 

Still redolent with odors of the feast. 

The other held a dewy blossom poised 

Like a pink bird upon its slender stem. 



14 



WILD WOOD CHIMES. 

" I picked it for you, Teacher." Artful boy ! 
With this magician's wand to turn the tide 
Of a just chiding for his loiterings, 
And 'scape in peace. 

O, men of wisdom, still 
A cumb'rous name of learned length attach 
To this^most fragile blossom of the wild. 
In heart of me, and verse of mine, it lives. 
For aye, a lady-slipper, breathing yet 
The subtile fragrance of enchanted woods. 
Upon the odors of the cool, black mold 
A fairy picture of the long ago 
Arose, and loudly elfin voices called 
My soul. Upon a slaty ridge I saw 
A barefoot child, in rustic dress, with waves 
Of sunburnt hair adrift upon the wind. 
Alone with the calm beauty of the fresh-leaved June. 
All in the yellow light the hilltops lay; 
But 'round their base the purple shadows crept 
And darkened, as she stood with bended head, 
Still as the lichen on the rain-scarred rock 
Beneath her feet, and listened to the sounds 
That rose above the murmur of her heart. 
Along deep hollows fled the haunted stream 
Pursued by its wild longing for the sea ; 
And with its plaintive purl, at intervals, 
The tinkle of a bell, afar and faint. 
Proclaimed her quest, the cows, flank-deep 
In fragrant herbage of the fertile hills, 



THE LADY SLIPPER. j c 

By slow-descending paths were winding down 

The homeward way to the cool water-brooks, 

To rest them there with meditative eyes, 

And deep-breathed satisfaction, in the dusk. 

Avoiding the worn ways of smooth descent, 

From cliff to cliff the fearless seeker dropped; 

For rock and shrub and vine were faithful each 

To foot and hand. She heard the captive winds 

In somber hemlocks faintly moan, and felt 

Their od'rous fingers stir her loosened hair ; 

And then waist-deep in ferns and clinging vines 

Of the wild pea, she plunged, and knew no pause, 

Save, now and then, to pluck from its deep bed 

Of mold, this shyest beauty of the woods — 

This scented slipper of the Elfin Queen, 

Then homeward, in the gloaming hastened on. 

O, prophecies, unread, how could I know — 

For this was I — that evermore my heart 

The brook's wild longing and the wind's unrest 

Would echo still ? and all my treasures prove 

But fairy gold dissolving at the touch 

Of life's realities? How read the weird 

Inscribed by destiny against my birth : 

" Thou art a child of earth ; and deep within 

Thy nature live the mysteries of all 

Her sheen and shadows. Rock and wind and wave 

Thyibrethren are ; and when to other sight 

And sound, thine eyes are closed and lips are dumb. 

These kindred voices of the Universe 

Shall find an echo still within thy soul." 



J 5 WILD WOOD CHIMES. 



SILENT CITIES. 



T TPON gentle hills are lying 
^ Many cities, still and lone, 
The swift birds above them flying, 

Hear no voices save their own. 
From them issues no one telling 

The saa knockers, rich or poor. 

Mistress waits within her dwelling, 

Enter;" opening wide the door. 

They have plats of grass and roses. 

Myrtle leaves, forget-me-nots; 
There, in lowly grace, reposes 

Springtime, near the smallest cots ; 
But no busy childish fingers 

Press the tinted petals there, 
Childish laughter never lingers 

l>ike sweet incense on the air. 

Yet, their faces turning thither. 

Life's fair morning saw them pass 
Ere the flowers began to wither, 

Ere the dew had left the grass. 
Saw them pass in silence dreary 

Followed close by tears and sighs. 
Folded were their hands, and weary 

Shadows gathered in their eyes. 



SILENT CITIES. 

There are harps of willows olden 

Strung with shadows, soft and long, 
But no voice awakes the golden 

Echoes of the land of song. 
Oft, when o'er the glad earth sighing 

Come faint whispers of the spring 
The sad ring-dove, swiftly flying. 

Sweeps them with her silver wing. 

Often when the time moves slowly. 

Clogged and heavy with our fears, 
To those cities, calm and holy, 

Look we, through our blinding tears. 
Ah, those cities ! faintly gleaming. 

In the starlight clear and fair. 
Broken was our peaceful dreaming. 

When our loved ones journeyed there. 

And, though we should call forever. 

Never comes an answering tone, 
Only sad winds murmur, " Never, " 

Sweeping past with restless moan. 
Never — never," we have heard it 

When the days were long and bright. 
And the sobbing rain has stirred it 

Falling slowly in the night. 

Have they left their crowded alleys 
For the mountain heights sublime ? 

For the breadth of peaceful valleys 
Safe beyond the surge of time ? 



17 



J 8 WILD WOOD CHIMES. 

Dipped their robes in crystal rivers, 
Washing from them every stain ? 

Do they rest where softly ([uivers 
From each spray a golden strain ? 

This we know not, can not reckon, 
Yet when day grows dusk and chill, 

Spirit, fingers seem to beckon 
To those cities on the hill. 

And we know a shadow lying 
Down the life-road ever waits, 

To each weary pilgrim crying : 

" Enter; rest within their gates." 



AT SWITHIN'S RUN. 
I. 

THE WALK. 

T^HE work-day life lies far away, 
^ And in the dawning of the day 
Along the pathway by the Run, 
Whose course goes onward with the sun, 
Is spread the web of fancy gay 
Beneath the feet which pass that way. 

Wild winds have swept the woodland clear 
Of summer charms, yet life is here. 



19 



AT SWI THIN' S R UN. 

In beds of softest russet spread 

The dry leaves rustle to the tread 

Of shy, soft-footed things that love 
The freedom of a mountain cove. 

And close beside a hidden spring 

Wherein the wate^pirits sing, 

All sheltered warm beneath the hill 
The maiden-hair is waving still. 

And the brown earth beneath the feet 

Resounds with echoes low and sweet. 

From throbbing heart of life sublime 
The currents well with rhythmic chime ; 

They tune the wild bird's mellow glee, 

And swell the veins of meanest tree. 
And he who listens now may hear 
The springtime whispers in his ear. 

The work-day life lies far away, 

And fancy rules the dawn of day. 

II. 

THE VISITORS. 

The bell had rung ; and up the criss-cross logs 
Which duty did for steps, a scrambHng host 
Of urchins came whose variegated heads 
Were busied soon o'er book and slate; and scarce 
Had silence fallen when their came a rap 
So deep, so loud, of such aggressive len^h 
The very stones in the foundation heard. 
And following it into the room there came 



20 



iVTLDWOOD CHIMES. 

With heavy tread and features grimly set 

With the importance of a mission high, 

Three hardy followers of the plow, with locks 

Unkempt and grizzly beard unshorn 

And homespun wamus knotted at each waist. 

With kindly greeting the schoolmistress bade 

Them enter and be seated, wond'ring still 

Why such scant courtesy her words repaid. 

And what the purpose of the dismal three. 

Too brief the problem long to vex her soul; 

" Them's the trustees," the echo softly crept 

Among the tilted benches, and a show 

Of diligence fell on the knowing ones. 

'' Yes, Sir! I heard Bill Underly tell Pap, 

Las' night, they wuz a-comin' down to give 

The teacher Hail Columby somethin' 'bout 

Wastin' such lots o' chalk, and sparkin' of" — 

Here sharply called the recitation bell. 

And the stage whispers of the " Primers" ceased. 

The hours fled and still the men of fate 

Took silent cognizance of all that passed. 

Followed the shifting classes in their work. 

And hung upon each question and reply 

In silence, till the mighty hill had thrown 

Its shadow vast and deep across the wastes 

Of fragrant pennyroyal ; then with brief 

And grave-voiced conference among themselves. 

Arose and still in silence gained the door 

Where they a moment stood shuffling their feet 

Uneasily, and then the eldest turned 



A T S IV I THIN' S R UN. 2 1 

And combing out his beard with nervous hand, 

Like one whose conscience pricks hnii to a task 

Unwelcome most, looked down into the eyes 

Of questioning laughter raised to his and said : 

' ' The law makes it our dooty to inspect 

This- school ; an' havin' nothin' else to do, 

Pertickiler, to-day, we've come to see 

Ef you wuz goin' a'cordin' to the law. 

The gal that kept last winter give a sight 

More time to sparkin' than to spellin', so 

We had not 'lowed to hire a gal agin; 

But all the boys who are high I'arnt enough 

To teach in town have got too big to come 

So fur up on the Run ; an' so we done 

The best we could by takin' you. W-e-U, n-o, — 

There ain't ben no complaint, pertickiler. 

Agin' the school, exceptin' there wuz talk 

Down at the mill about that young town chap 

Hitchin' his critter to the school-house steps 

As much as twict sence Christmas. Brother, hey? 

Now, Lizy Ann allowed you favored some. 

So there's an end o' that. I 'm pow'ful glad. 

Sparkin' '11 ruin any school alive. 

W-e-11, y-e-s, some little talkin' has ben done 

Concernin' your odd way o' teachin' chaps 

To read an' write before they've I'arnt to spell 

In double sittables ; an' some do say 

That you don't teach the alphybet a-tall. 

O' course we don't believe sech stuff as that, 

For when I heard them little fellers there 



WILD WOOD CHIMES. 

A-readin' their Fu'st Readers right along — 
An' po'try, too — an' never skip a word, 
I reckoned that you know what you're about. 
About that chalk ? O, that was jest some word 
We had from the young man in Johnses store ; 
He thought you must be wastin' lots o' chalk. 
An' Squire Moss — he's Pres'dent o' the Board — 
Said how, as guardeens o' the school, that we 
Had better jest step in an' let you know 
The deestrick only furnishes one box. 
The regeler amount last winter wuz 
Two sticks a week ; an' most of it wuz left 
Kickin' about the house when school wuz out. 
But when I see them little fellers go 
Up to yan board an' chalk their lessons down 
In real good writin' letters, sech as I 
Wuz never I'arnt to make, as boy or man, 
I see there is some good in usin' chalk ; 
An' ef the deestrick jumps the bill, I'll pay. 
We're not a-findin' any fault of you. 
You're doin' purty well, considerin ; 
An' we stand by the teacher when we kin. 
vBut use the spellers jest a little more ; 
An' ef you should have any difficult 
Enforcin' discerpline, — for there be some 
Real heady chaps upon the Run — or want 
Advice about the runnin' of the school. 
You kin depend on us. Jest call on us." 



AT SWITHIN'S RUN. 

III. 

AT NIGHT. 

The weary day was with the past — 

Down from the hill-tops swept the blast ; 
It whistled through the branches bare 
And tossed the pine tree's fragrant hair. 

But to the watcher by the fire 

The triumph of a strong desire 

Through all its choral changes rung, 
And ever through the songs it sung 

An old sweet glamour seemed to thrill. 

This was the world of fancy still ; 
For gracious embers ne'er deny 
The quest of wistful dreamer's eye, 

Nor show the witching forms they raise 

Unto another's mocking gaze. 
And in the hollow land of flame 
Uprose the royal towers of fame ; 

And gallant hosts came marching by 

On the fair plains of reverie. 

No knight e'er graced the Table Round 
As brave as he whose bugle sound 

Awoke those lists with challenge free 

To deeds of noblest chivalry. 

Lancelot was he, but without stain ; 
More courtly than the gay Gawain; 

Than Galahad more pure and white 

He stood, her dream-created knight ; 



23 



24 



WILD WOOD CHIMES. 



And while the night-winds wrought their will, 
Her thoughts went on to Camelot still. 

Unheeding all the jar and fret 

In fancy's world she lingered yet. 



UNCROWNED. 

V/'ES, i^ause where the heroes are sleeping 
^ And garland their graves with the best 
The summer-time holds in her keeping; 

Well-won are the wreaths on each breast — 
Well-won are the song and the story 

That honor the brave and the true ; 
And long may the incense of glory 

Encircle the Gray and the Blue. 

But when with the battle-flags trailing, 

With war's thrilling requiems said, 
You pass with the drums' muffled wailing 

From the myrtle-paved streets of the dead, 
I know that in by-ways forsaken. 

Where only the wind's hollow sound 
The desolate silences waken 

The bravest are lying uncrowned; 



UNCROWNED. 

Who walked in the ways that were narrow, 

Who trod the world's wine-press alone, 
Who drank from the waters of Marah, 

With anguish too deep for a moan. 
But low in Gethsemane kneeling 

The depths of their spirits were stirred 
For the world, and the fountains of healing 

Gushed forth like the song of a bird. 

And weary ones, thirsting no longer 

Their hearts on His promise did lean. 
And the pulses of life grew stronger 

At the touch of the Christ unseen. 
But only the angels of pity 

Heard ever the breath of a word. 
As they wept by the Gates of the City : 

^'■Thoii knowcst, Thou knowcsf, OLord!^^ 

Ah ! Fame, do thy laurel-wreathed pages 

Know aught of the hallowed place 
That softens the rime of the ages — 

Though nameless forever its grace — 
Where worn with the fever of living, 

Yet true unto death to its trust. 
And spent with the unreturned giving 

A woman's heart crumbled to dust ? 



25 



26 WILD WOOD CHIMES. 



NATURE. 

Rondeau. 

T SOUGHT within men's hollow creeds 
^ A healing for the sorest needs 
That vexed my life. — They mocked my quest ; 
The hidden fires within my breast 
Burned on. I sought the sylvan meads, 
I watched the flight of winged seeds, 
I found the soul in meanest weeds, 

I saw young birds from out the nest 
On swift wings soar. 
I follow Nature where she leads, 
And naught to me are men and deeds ; 
For in the pathway she hath pressed 
I find the benison of rest — 
And safe from life's tormenting greeds, 
I seek no more. 



THE BROKEN ALPHABET. 

T i" you should care to follow me 

^ Along the lanes of memory, 
I'd have you pause beside the spot 
Where stood — though now it standeth not- 



THE BROKEN A LP H ABE T. 2 7 

A log-house, little, brown and cool, 

Which half a narrow space did fill 

Between the road-side and the hill ; 

And standing there, I'd show to you 

A picture, homely, quaint and true — 

The place where first I went to school. 

The door on wooden hinges hung 

That shrieked, however lightly swung; 

The backless benches on four legs, 

The narrow shelf upon its pegs. 

On which the dinner baskets stood; 

Six tiny panes of wizard glass 

Through which we viewed strange monsters pass. 

Distorted shapes of man and beast — 

Each one a dozen, at the least, 

Oft-time went glimmering through the wood. 

How oft my errant eyes forsook 

The ancient blue-backed spelling-book. 

Where, like a hideous array 

Of dragons, frowned the livelong day 

The pond'rous names of nothingness. 

Whose syllables I stumbled o'er 

When called to stand upon the floor ; 

The laughing-stock of all at once, 

A yellow-headed little dunce. 

Trembling with envious distress. 

For they their " One /, one " could say. 

And glibly name the long array 

Of numeral letters, fair and good. 

Till "J/, one thousand,'' proudly stood; 



28 



WILDIVOOD CHIMES. 

While I, who loved all things alive, 

Could count the sparrow's speckled eggs, 

The rings upon the spider's legs, 

How many straws the peewees laid 

Each day upon the nest they made, 

But could not see how Fwas five. 

O, blessed power to forget 

The ills of life, its jar and fret ! 

For memory a golden haze 

Has wrapped about those early days, 

And clasped it with her jeweled hand. 

Nameless, for aye, the games we played 

At noon beneath the beech-tree's shade ; 

The melody forever mute 

We made upon each rustic flute 

At rest upon the yellow sand. 

The mold is deep upon the shore 

Beneath the painted sycamore. 

Above the clover-babies white 

That in the mellow, checkered light 

We hushed to sleep in robes of gold. 

Merlin, himself, might search in vain 

For echo of the merry train 

That pierced the forest's secret core. 

And feasted on its rifled store ; 

Yet memory doth it all enfold. 

Through many a lengthened afternoon 

My drowsy senses learned the tune 

Of blackbird in the willow tree. 

Of cricket, and of droning bee. 



THE BROKEN ALPHABET. 

I watched as in a tranquil dream, 
Through open door, the muskrat sleek 
Go paddling down the narrow creek. 
And vanish in his chamber dank 
And chill beneath the shelving bank, 
Secure 'gainst school-boy's boldest schemt 
Or, following the circling light 
Above the hills' uneven height, 
I planned to climb the highest rock, 
And catch the cloud-man's fleecy flock 
That swept across the pasture blue. 
Ah, many a fancy's spangled train 
Was netted in my childish brain ; 
And though an idler's name I earned, 
Thrice happy were the days I learned 
The runes of nature, wise and true. 
Invisible the teacher grand 
Who led me with a gentle hand ; 
Her alphabet was lettered o'er 
Each blade and leaf, and precious lore 
She wrote upon the wind and wave ; 
Within my formless musingif crept, 
And wrought in visions while I slept. 
Thrice happy had I followed still 
The mandate of her gracious will, 
And claimed the promises she gave. 
But in the after years, I turned 
To other paths, and dimly burned 
Her sacred lamp, and seemed to fail 
Behind a swiftly-closing veil, 



29 



3° 



WILD WOOD CHIMES. 

And to her lore I lost the clue ; 

Yet, here and there the years still bring 

The letters of a broken ring ; 

I find them in the tempest wild, 

And in the laughter of a child, 

And in the wood notes clear and true ; 

At dawn, beneath the frozen hill. 

Above the waters of the rill, 

Engraven on a page of ice 

The characters of strange device 

Half-hidden in the frost leaves shine; 

While soft and low the waters tell 

The syllables of some sweet spell, 

Some mystery of secret power 

Revealed to earth in that charmed hour. 

Whose meaning I may half divine ; 

And on a silvery birchen root. 

The impress of a naked foot, 

Or print of finger in the glow 

The orchid's inner petals show, 

My half-anointed eyes can trace. 

Or, following the slanting ray 

Of summer's fairest, longest day. 

Through dim cathedral aisles of pine, 

The incense from a viewless shrine 

Enfolds me with a sacred grace. 

Exquisite tones my pulses thrill : 

'' Hail, happy mortal who dost still 

With steadfast heart and vision true. 

The promises of Life pursue — 



31 

Lo, just beyond, her gates appear !" 
And, somewhere, in a fairer land, 
Within a clearer dawn I '11 stand 
With all the letters, strange and sweet. 
Of that lost alphabet complete — 
Beyond the vapors rolling here. 



IF. 



T F, toiling in the dreary mine, 
-■• I chanced to find a tiny stone, 
And with its fitful sparkle pleased, 

I clasped and called it all my own, 
Would he who quenched the feeble spark, 
Be richer now that it is dark ? 

If in the desert sands I found . • 

A simple, bloomless, little weed, 

And in its homely leaves should find 
A healing for my sorest need. 

Would he be wiser who should say 

I'd better cast that weed away ? 

If in the mighty choir of life 

My faint heart learned a little song, 



32 



IVILDIVOOD CHIMES. 



And sung it softly, o'er and o'er, 

Until its heated pulse grew strong, 
Would he be greater who should say 
My song is but an idle lay ? 



BECAUSE OF HIS LOVE. 

O WONDERFUL earth, in thy bosom so deep 
The beautiful springtime lieth asleep 
With her pulses of incense fluttering low 
Under the drifts of the pitiless snow, 
All sheltered and safe from the wild wind's sweep. 
Because of His love, God hath willed it so. 

O, merciful grave, in thy haven of rest 
The weary ones lie, with their pale hands pressed 
To bosoms too still for the passionate pain 
Of living and loving to pierce them again ; 
Because of His love — and he knoweth best — 
The voices of longing entreat them in vain. 



CASTLES OF HOPE. 



CASTLES OF HOPE. 



33 



THE last wave of sunlight has drifted away, 
But a soft glory dawns over valley and slope, 
A splendor unknown to the earth, air, or sea. 

And it shines from the wonderful castles of Hope. 

On the far-away isles of a magical sea 

Their white towers float upon billows of gold ; 

And the rainbows of promise around them are spread, 
While the spirits of silence the portals unfold. 

There are faces more fair than the pale silver light 
That gleams from the bow of a fast-waning moon, 

And the voices are softer than rain in the night 
When it falls on the petals of roses in June. 

There is music as sweet as the yellow-bird's song 
In the islands where summer has folded her wings ; 

For the harps are all strung with our heart-hidden dreams. 
And a soul's immortality touches the strings. 

Ah ! what does it matter? the night closing in 
On a harvest of nothing but ruin and rust. 

And the cry of a desolate past for the joys 
That are buried forever in ashes and dust ? 

For a shallop of lilies, far whiter than day. 
Comes over the waves of the glittering sea ; 



^^ WILD WOOD CHIMES. 

And a sweet voice is singing somewhere in the night, 
''The wish that is dearest is coming to thee." 

So in patience we wait, though the hours are long, 
Their darkness is lost in the roseate flame 

That hides the fair hope from our eyes, but each heart, 
In its holy of holies, has whispered its name. 

And, O, when we stand by the river so cold. 
While the glorious sunlight is fading for aye, 

And the shadowy wings of the Messenger sweep 
The warm, living earth from our vision away ; 

When the last thrilling tones of the voices we loved 

In the days that were washed in the fountains of dawn, 

Grow faint as the wail of a wind-stricken lute. 

And the last tender touch from our faces is gone, — 

When the trembling soul in its prison of clay 

With the terrors of darkness despairing shall cope, 

Ah, bright be the glow of the unfailing light 
That shines from our beautiful castles of Hope. 



MIDSUMMER DA VS. ^ t 



MIDSUMMER DAYS. 



\ X /"HEN shining days grow warm and long 
' ^ And leaves in full-grown beauty glow, 
I leave the care-tormented throng 
And forth into the woodland go. 
I lose the din of idle words 
In soulful music of the birds, 
And the wind's whispers soft and low. 

Across the ring where fairies slept 

The green moss creeps in shady dells ; 
A diamond tear by darkness wept, 
Within each jeweled chalice dwells. 
A welcome-song attuned for me 
In notes of sweetest minstrelsy, 
Upon the wind harp softly swells. 

Here on a rock, rain-scarred and gray. 

For hours I watch the shadows sweep ; 
They chase life's vain regrets aw^ay, 
And soothe its weariness to sleep. 
I hear the faint breeze in its lair 
Amid the pine tree's spicy hair. 
In the still gloaming wake and wxep. 

Or seated in some python vine, 
I swing beside a mountain stream, 



36 



WILD WOOD CHIMES. 

And freight the ships of fancy's hne 

With flowers of many a cherished dream, 
In silence, restful, sweet and lone, 
Unstirred save by the wave's low tone, 
And by the distant hawk's shrill scream. 

While wafted by each swaying leaf, 

A fitful breath of hidden flowers 

Memorial brings of fragrance brief 

That hung upon spring's opening hours ; 
And somewhere near, I know full well, 
A few wood-violets still dwell 
Beneath the forest's coolest bowers. 

O, summer days, celestial down 

From Time's half-resting pinions shed, 
W^ith all your royal splendor crown 

The hour when with the dreamless dead. 
Within some quiet vale at rest, 
Beneath its fringed mantle pressed, 
I lay with all my prayers said. 

Where in the silence, dim, divine, 
The timid children of the wood 
Will break the shadows' drifting line 
With antic freak and playful mood ; 

Where whispered requiems will thrill 
The sighing trees, and softly fill 
The heart of that rapt solitude. 



ST. VALENTINE. 



ST. VALENTINE. 



37 



IT comes to me as the winds chime — 
A scrap of half-forgotten rhyme, 
The fragment of a childish lore 
Once caught, almost unconsciously, 

From pages read by man no more, 
Save by the light of memory — 

The tale that claims this verse of mine, 
This legend of St. Valentine. 

At twilight in the harbor wide. 
His ship was waiting for the tide, 

The tide that all too swiftly came ; 
For years, alas ! must roll between. 

And changing seasons light their flame — 
Long seasons with their clouds and sheen. 

Across the dark, estranging brine 

He went who was her Valentine. 

A year. Still far beyond her port 

The good ship sailed, of winds the sport ; 

And to the watcher by the shore 
There came but this, a simple line. 

Her pulses sang it o'er and o'er. 
It thrilled them like enchanted wme. 
" Sweetheart," it said, " thy hope is mine, 

And I am still thy Valentine." 



^8 WILD WOOD CHIMES. 

But freighted still with hopes or gold, 
With all the treasures that men hold, 

Ships will go down, and hearts will break. 
Well no ; still hear this legend's idle lay : 

At twilight when the tides awake, 
He called her and she could not stay ; 

But passed beyond earth's harbor line 

The evening of St. Valentine. 

Who from the grape its bloom would l)rush, 
Or rob the sunrise of its flush ? 

Who pluck the mirage from the cloud, 
Or from the morning take its dew ? 

Then be this idle rhyme allowed, 
Though it be neither great nor true. 
*' Sweetheart," it says, "■ thy hope is mine. 

And I am still thy Valentine." 



IN DREAMS. 



T AST night the pattering rain came down 
^ With gentle murmur on the roof, 
And hushed to sleep in changeful dreams 
Long years of checkered warp and woof. 

I know not if within its voice 

The ghost of soft remembrance crept ; 



IN DREAMS. 

But some sweet spirit claimed the night, 
And Ungered near me while I slept. 

Methought I stood upon a knoll 
That edged a flowing rivulet, 

Within whose whispering waters all 
The melodies of spring were met. 

And there was all within that scene 
To charm a poet's dreaming soul ; 

An artist there might deem that he 
Had reached his aspiration's goal. 

On either side the mountain smiled 
With bursting buds and tender sprays, 

And from them many a silver voice 
Trilled out its joy in gladsome lays. 

There many a slender birch looked down 
On blossoms strange as fancy's dream, 

And spirit bells swayed noiselessly 
From mossy rocks above the stream. 

The wind crept in and opened wide 
The windows of that living wall, 

Through which the dying sunlight cast 
Its golden pebbles over all. 

The wind crept in and softly swayed 
The scented grasses to and fro, 



39 



40 



WILDIVOOD CHIMES. 

And time seemed pausing by that stream 
Lulled by its music sweet and low. 

'' Here," said I to my weary soul, 

Tempted and tried and sorely pressed, 

"Safe from the ceaseless whirl of strife 
In this dim solitude is rest. 

No sordid care, no fevered thirst 
To mar, to madden every hour. 

But days which glide like tranquil dreams 
Rife with the fragrance of each flower. 

And here to find the utterance 
In the sad voices of this stream. 

Of that tumultuous tide of thought 

That wears the heart, unheard, unseen. 

To read with that mysterious sense 

We call the vision of the soul, 
Long pages of immortal truth 

Inscribed on nature's living scroll." 

Upon a drift of scented leaves 
I sank, half-buried there to lie, 

And thought — 't was but a dream, you know 
I'd let the toiling world go by. 

A soft narcotic fragrance wrought 

Its subde spell upon my brain. 
And life and its remembrance seemed 

The echo of a lost refrain. 



IN DREAMS. 

The murmur of the stream grew faint ; 

The woodland seemed to drift away ; 
And wrapped in misty realms of space, 

Dreaming within a dream I lay. 

Before me rolled a mighty stream, 
And, borne upon its waveless breast, 

A mystic branch of mistletoe 

Went floating toward the dying West. 

Upon it sat a scarlet bird, 

A golden harp beneath its feet, 

A harp whereon the zephyrs played 
Low music, sad and soft and sweet. 

From shining shore to shining shore, 
The flitting rainbows flashed and played, 

Flung from the plumage of the bird 

That floated on through light and shade. 

The bright bird sang, and with the harp 
Its notes grew clearer, yet more low, 

And finer, farther, fainter still, 
Amid the river's gleam and glow. 

But only he who dreams may hear 
The haunting sweetness of the song 

That fluted from its ruby throat 

Like a life-current, swift and strong. 

One thought within my being stirred 

And scorched my veins like heated wine 



41 



42 



IVILDIVOOD CHIMES. 

I'll follow till the world be past, 
Sweet singer, till I call thee mine." 

But still that subtile fragrance wrought 

Its mystery upon my brain, 
I saw the mighty current bear 

Its burden onward to the main. 

And still like one bereft of life 
Reclined on that enchanted bed ; 

The song, the light, the stream rolled by ; 
The dream within my dream was dead. 

The woodland, too, was gone, and wreaths 
Of asphodel, fresh-blown and white, 

About me lay serene and fair 

And gleaming in the starry night. 

Above my burning eyes they lay, 

By unseen fingers softly pressed, 
And gentle whispers round me said : 
*' The song was frenzy, this is rest." 

Without, the tossing waves of life 
Again were beating on the shore. 

All turbulent with pain and strife. 

The night was dead, my dream no more. 



LIFE. 43 



LIFE. 

A CHECKERED web of flying years 
Of mingled doubting hopes and fears, 
With here and there a golden thread, 
Like sunshine through the darkness spread. 

A pathway, rugged, steep, and drear, 
Bestrewn with leaves all crisp and sere, 
With here and there a smiling flower 
That blooms to fade within an hour. 

A journey through a pathless night, 
A misty realm of gloom and blight 
With here and there a starry ray 
To show the dangers of the way. 

A song arising, low and dread. 
By tears and bitter murmurs fed, 
With now and then a joyful strain, 
That robs one cadence of its pain. 

A longing, lingering, looking back 
Upon the swift-receding track, 
With now and then a trembling ga~ze 
Into the future's mystic haze. 



44 



WILD WOOD CHIMES. 



A restless, fevered, vague unrest, 
A glimmer on the river's breast 
That widens, deepens with the stream, 
Into Eternity's still dream. 



IN CAMDEN WOOD. 
I. 

HE who would stay his fainting faith 
Should breathe the hill's inspiring breath 
And nerve his spirit for the strife 
With echoes of the brown quail's fife. 
If he would hide one summer day 
From care's corroding touch away, 
Let him go where beyond the town. 
The woodland sits in silken gown, 
And safe within her faithful hold 
The secret shall remain untold. 

Between the town and Camden Wood 
The river runs ; and oft I've stood 
Upon the bridge's painted beam 
And followed in my fancy's dream 
The sparkle of a tiny thread 
Just creeping from its rocky bed 
Amid the mountains dark and wild. 
And playing like a gleeful child, 



IN CAMDEN WOOD. 

With broken bits of sheen and shade, 
Its way 'neath laurel thickets made ; 
Then flashing forth with wild delight 
In cataracts of green and white, 
Came widening down into the glen, 
A servant in the hands of men. 
This was above the bridge ; below 
A-shimmer in the sunset glow, 
With steadier sweep and many a bend, 
I saw the waters westward trend 
To join the clear Ohio's shore, 
The River of the Woods no more. 

This is the forest free and wild, 

Unkept of man, and undefiled 

With ax and saw of lumberman, 

Though oft his thrifty glances scan 

The poplars fair and walnuts brown 

Along their stems from root to crown, 

With calculation swift and neat, 

Of just how many cubic feet. 

This is the forest free and grand. 

As fashioned by creative hand ; 

No knife has pruned the underbrush 

Beneath whose tangled tresses blush 

The fragile flowers of the shade 

In dainty loveliness arrayed. 

As if some spirit of the air 

In careless mood had dropped them there. 

The prying sunbeams never look 



45 



46 



WILD WOOD CHIMES. 

On misty green of many a nook 
Where odors strange and sweet arise 
Like a stray breath from Paradise ; 
For this is where the elfin crew 
Their hidden revelries pursue, 
And on the fern-seed cast the spell 
Which makes a man invisible 
Forevermore to mortal sight, 
If gathered on the fateful night. 
Never for me the place and hour 
Together came ; but from the bower 
I stole the secret of its shade ; 
I learned how all the wood was made. 

II. 

HOW THE WOOD WAS MADE, 

The artist, Nature, walked one day 
Where knolls and valleys barren lay, 
And naked rocks on every height 
Were sweltering in the garish light, 
And lingering there in musing mood 
She planned and planted Camden Wood. 
Here first she made the cooling breeze, 
And then she set the leafy trees, 
The hickory with his ragged cloak. 
Erect and firm the sachem oak, 
The birch-tree graceful as a maid, 
And the bird-haunted beeches' shade ; 
The fair bacchante sycamore 



/iV CAMDEN WOOD. .j 

Her dappled fawn-skin 'round her wore, 

And shook her golden-tasseled head 

At all the coaxing breezes said. 

A silent, swart, Egyptian band 

Of gum-trees, weather-scarred and tanned, 

Stood sentinel about the hoard 

Of sweets within the maples stored. 

The buckeye with its blossoms pied. 

The service-tree veiled like a bride. 

And walnuts 'neath whose tawny skin 

The bitter blood was rioting, — 

All, all, and many more she set, — 

But all unfinished seemed it yet. 

And then she flang from rock to tree 

A robe of greenest tapestry ; 

And all the forest-coverts caught 

Some fringes her deft fingers wrought. 

Insurgent host of ivies scaled 

The castled rocks with fingers mailed ; 

And twining, creeping, trailing things 

Went softly fluttering into rings 

Till every hardy sapling felt 

The climbing fingers at his belt. 

And then she bade the flowers spring ; • 

And here and there a glancing wing 

With rainbow tints she covered o'er — 

A glancing wing forevermore, — 

And some gray birds with mottled breast 

She bade remain and build their nest 

Within the dusky dingles near. 



48 



WILDWOOD CHIMES. 

Where in the floodtide of the year, 

The Uvelong day their voices swell 

Clear-toned and ringing like a bell. 

And myriads of shining things 

Came floating down with noiseless wings 

Upon the beams of golden light . 

She sifted through the leafy height. 

Then strung upon a silver thread 

The wimpling waters onward sped ; 

Or cinctured in the hollow stone 

Like gems of clearest crystal shone. 

AVhen all was done, at sunset close. 

She stopped a moment to repose 

Within the sheltered sloping land. 

Upon the palette in her hand 

The softest shades of colors lay, 

Of brown, and green and silver-gray. 

And iridescent hues that glow 

Within the heaven's bended bow ; 

She mixed them with a glamour sweet. 

And dropped them idly at her feet. 

The breezes caught them as they fell 

And changed them with a whispered spell ; 

And where they touched the mellow earth 

A verdure new sprang into birth. 

It wore the palm-tree's feathered crest, 

In fringe and spangles it was dressed ; 

O'er softest robes of green and gray 

It wore the jewels of the May ; 

And lighter than the clouds of spring, 



IN CAMDEN WOOD. 

It crept about each crumbling thing. 
It wrapped each dull, decaying form 
In velvet mantle, soft and warm. 
As if to fearing man it saith : 
Behold how very fair is death ! " 
And thus within the twihght shade 
Were moss and ferns and lichens made ; 
And thus beneath the twilight dew 
The moss and ferns and lichens grew. 
Before the artist left the place 
She bade the lichen pencils trace 
A legend on the page of stone ; 
But he, beloved of her, alone 
Can read the lines he may not speak. 
Then in the ferns, with sudden freak 
She folded softly from the day 
Some tiny, brown-capped elves away. 
But in the selvedge of the wood, 
Ling'ring she seized — ah, cruel mood ! 
A lovely Maenad singing there ; 
And pinned her by the yeUow hair 
Beneath the waters cold and deep. 
Where you may hear her sob and weep. 

Ah, mine is but an idle lay. 

An idle hour to while away ; 

But you within the secret dell 

The lichens' lettered weird may spell, 

And learn the legend if you seek, 

Which you may never, never speak. 



49 



50 



WILD WOOD CHIMES. 

III. 

IN THE VALLEY OF DREAMS. 

Here where the pink-lipped orchid died, a weed 

Its gaudy clusters flaunts, and faithless bees, 

Their springtime love forgot, their revels keep 

Within its golden chambers. And lest Care 

Should claim the hour, I 've hidden it beneath 

The opal banners of the autumn wood. 

Away with Care ! into the heart of man 

He stealeth deep, and where his presence is 

The verdure withers and the song is dead. 

Better it is to rest upon this bank 

Of jeweled moss, and let the woven light 

And shade our fitful fancies snare 

Within their shining meshes, than to bend 

An aching brow above the yellow page 

Of man's unsatisfying lore ; to lie 

Enfolded by the autumn's mellow mood 

As yonder cliff's gray wall in sunshine steeped ; 

To breathe as languid zephyrs breathe. 

To rest as rests the many-colored tranquil wood. 

There is a pleasing mystery that steals 
Upon the musing mind of man unsought. 
And opening wide the windows of the soul, 
Makes him contemporary with all time. 
As once within the Autumn's painted bowers 
I lay half-hidden from the noontide glow, 



IN CAMDEN WOOD. cj 

Afar away did seem to float the hum 
And whir of drowsy insects murmuring 
Amid the golden-dusted blooms, and borne 
Upon the viewless wings of reverie, 
Through rounded centuries I drifted back 
And drank the primal freshness of the world. 
And thus I stood in ancient Britainy 
With him, the great magician. Merlin named, 
And her sung by all bards the beautiful, 
Yet false, forsworn, and wily Vivien. 
Old is the story told by many tongues 
And heard by many ears ; but ever seems 
False notes to mar its changeful melody, — 
But will you hear it as I read it once 
From their own faces in the autumn wood ? 

In the dark glass of destiny the seer 

Had seen the passing of white-souled kin'g 

And the destruction of his peerless knights, 

The overthrow of peace and harmony 

And all the dismal time which was to come. 

And half to hide his heavy countenance. 

And half because a dreary purpose wrought 

Within his mind, he fled from Arthur's court 

And hid himself amid the deepest shades 

Of the near wood. And Vivien followed him 

Unasked, but still expected, for the power 

Was his to do the thing he willed, and draw 

The footsteps of the bidden one, as tides 

By the round moon are drawn from farthest shores. 



52 



WILD WOOD CHIMES. 

They crossed the smooth, bright waters in a boat, 

And came into a woody basin wide, 

And ringed upon the north, the east, and south 

With circled line of the blue hills. The west 

An open gateway, golden in the light 

Of slanting sunbeams, stood ; and you could see 

Across the water and the open space, 

Far off a solitary turret gleam. 

The wizard, grand and awful in his gloom, 

Unspeaking sat beneath a tree. He felt 

The weight of his great age upon his soul 

Press heavily; his life outran the span 

Of many generations; deep was he 

In magic steeped ; and all throughout the land 

The saying dwelt that Merlin could not die. 

But unto him was known a nameless spell. 

Which, wrought upon the sleeping, he who slept 

Awakened nevermore to sight and sound; 

But lay entranced within a hollow land 

Invisible forevermore, and dead 

To all the voices of the calling years. 

Few leaves had fallen, but a subtile flush 

Upon the forest's emerald had crept. 

And on the borders of the open paths 

The wild grass hung its gray and scarlet fringe; 

And slender bars of sunlight slanted through 

The thin blue vapor of the wood and broke 

In fretted rainbows upon Vivien's head. 

Down to her sandaled feet in clinging curves 

Her silken gown of softest primrose swept ; 



IN CAMDEN WOOD. c-i 

About her waist a band of shining gold 

Clasped with a green-eyed dragon's head, ensealed 

And crusted o'er with gems of dazzling white, 

With heart-red drops of rubies interspersed ; 

Her brow, her cheeks, her softly rounded arms 

And graceful throat, as ivory crucifix 

Were colorless save for the sunset glow 

And the warm flush of the red-tinted wood. 

A jeweled dagger held her dusky hair, 

But the escaping locks down to her waist 

In gentle undulations fell, and hung 

Like deepest hemlock shade above her brow. 

Her eyes ? — Have you not looked into a pool 

Of water which welled up from darkest depths 

Of cold gray stone, and caught upon its breast 

The warm brown of the fallen leaf, the deep 

Clear emerald of the lichen, and the gloom 

Of wind-clouds with the rifts of sunshine pierced ? 

Thus Vivien's eyes the color of her mood 

Took on ; to one man black, to one man blue. 

To other softest hazel hue, and grave 

Or gay as fancy taught, for each man found 

Within their depths the soul his soul had sought. 

The dainty grace of girlishness bespoke 

The simple, tender, loving-hearted maid ; 

The thin curve of her scarlet lips might well 

Befit a serpent temptress ; the wide brow 

A man's strong counselor and friend bespoke. 

Which was she ? All, as the demand might be ; 



54 



IVILDWOOD CHIMES. 

For woman in all ages is the same, 

She does but answer to the stronger voice. 

So Vivien stood within the darkening wood, 
Like some smooth bird of paradise with plumes 
Of palest gold. And Merlin felt his hour 
Draw near ; but will she answer to his will ? 
Too curious Vivien ! Her eyes well matched 
The dragon orbs upon her belt — when from 
His loosened grasp she drew the serpent staff 
And o'er the sleeping wizard cast the spell 
No mortal power might break forevermore ; 
And in the hollow land, invisible, 
By her bereft of weariness and pain. 
Lies Merlin dreamless still And Vivien? 
Had you not marked the hand whose fibers lay 
Banded like steel within their velvet case? 
Could she forget? Ah, well I 1 only know 
The voice that in the deepest forest lives 
Is never merry ; laughs not ; sighs and grieves, 
And going, comes again to grieve and sigh 
Like one who tries and ever tries in vain 
A sleeper's fettered spirit to unchain. 



IN CAMDEN IVOOD. ^^ 



IV. 

l'envoi. 

How strange the slumb'rous fancies seem 
That hover o'er a wakening dream. 
Was yonder rock, bearded and gray, 
Merhn, august and stern ? That spray 
Of golden-rod beside it there. 
The slender form of Vivien fair ? 
This woody shore not Brittany 
But the new land ? And this must be 
Little Kanawha's rippling tide 
And not the classic waters wide— 
And that white spire upon the hill 
The village church,- remote and still. 
Ah, royal wood, I know thee well, 
It needs no wizard old to spell 
Thy written fate. The coming tread 
Of iron courser shakes with dread 
The bosom of thy calm retreat, 
And low thy numbered pulses beat. 
And oft upon the Sabbath morn. 
Hands in his pockets,, beard unshorn, 
The rustic Dives wanders by 
And casts a calculating eye 
Upon thy timber grand and old, 
Upon thy depths of richest mold ; 
And ever in his fancy's ear 



56 



WILD WOOD CHIMES. 

The chopper's ax rings loud and clear ; 
And harvests of the golden corn 
Are of his greedy visions born. 
And I, too, hear the groaning sigh 
With which thy charms lie down to die. 
When tott'ring 'neath the steady stroke 
With awful crash the mighty oak, 
The monarch of the centuries. 
Amid the cruel ruin lies, 
Which his descending arm has hurled 
Upon the hapless sylvan world. 

1 follow still the fallen tree 

Upon the wind of destiny, 

Where deep, estranging waters meet 

The alien skies. Beneath his feet 

As iron firm the wanderer feels 

The beams of oak, and through him steals 

The (juiet of the pathless wood, 

Its languor mingles with his blood, 

And memory's gentle herald spoke 

Its message through the heart of oak. 

Or barred behind an iron door 
Upon his cell's close-fibered floor, 
Some fettered wretch penned up to die 
May sleeping dream of liberty. 

I see the gleaming mattock swung 

Above thy fair, unsheltered young ; 

And watch with mingled grief and shame, 



IN CAMDEN WOOD. 

The swift, devouring tongues of flame 

Lap thy life current rich and strong. — ■ 

Forever still the gray bird's song ; 

For patient oxen to and fro, 

Across thy blackened acres go ; 

And blistering 'neath shadeless sky 

The orchids in the furrows lie, 

With all their chaliced sweetness trod 

Beneath the foot of living clod. 

A quagmire reeking with the scum 

Of stagnant waters, where the hum 

Of marsh-bred insects and the cry 

Abhorred by every passer-by. 

Of the green-spotted, loathsome toad, 

Alone shall be" the funeral ode 

Of thy pure spring whose waters clear 

Mirrored the antlers of the deer, 

Or feathered crest of Indian chief 

More swarthy than the fallen leaf, 

Or dusky eyes of forest girl 

Whose locks outshone the singing merle. 

Vet it may be one passing by, 

Amid the ruined waste may spy 

A slender stem of ebony 

Beneath its fringed canopy ; 

While ferny odors cool and sweet, 

His half-believing senses greet, 

And marvel that a thing so fair 

Should keep its dainty footing there ; 

And if he be of Nature's lore 



57 



58 



IVILDWOOD CHIMES. 

A lover true, he'll ponder o'er 

Her lengthened scroll to find the key 

Unto the fern's green mystery. 

So frail and yet so strong they grow 

Beneath the beds of drifted snow, 

And in the rifts of barren rock 

Beyond the shepherd's questing flock ; 

They cluster in the darkest dell. 

Climb down into the gray-walled well, 

And the smooth water bending o'er 

Narcissus-like, themselves adore. 

O shade of Merlin, couldst ihou tell 

To me the long-forgotten spell 

Of waving hand and woven pace. 

This wood with all its witching grace, 

Encircled by the magic maze 

Should vanish softly from the gaze 

Of crafty eye forevermore. 

But there should be a secret door 

Whose noiseless hinge should inward swing 

When in the mild delicious spring 

The child who loves the violet 

Her dainty footsteps hither set. 

Who names the birdlings in "their nests 

Yet leaves them with unfluttered breasts. 

Here early in ambrosial June, 

With all its harmonies in tune, 

Unwittingly should lovers blind 

Sometimes the mystic portal find, 



IN CAMDEN WOOD. ^g 

And in their young hearts Avarm and strong 

Should carry hence the thrushes' song 

To cheer Hfe's dreary solitude, 

When far from the enchanted wood 

With all his witching glamour fled 

Fond Love himself lies cold and dead. 

Here should the haunted worldling come 

When Flattery's fevered lips are dumb ; 

Misled by Fortune's fickle flame 

And broken on the wheel of fame, 

From maddening whirl and senseless shout 

Of the Circean, swinish rout, 

He here should rest his dying head 

Upon the woodland's leafy bed 

Where in the silence cool and clear, 

Spirits of mercy linger near. 

Open that door should ever be 

Unto the child of phantasy ; 

He should not mingle with the herd 

Who never felt their pulses stirred 

With echoes of the hidden lyre 

AVith flashes of the sacred fire. 

The wind should teach him fancies fine, 

The water, melodies divine ; 

His heart should feed itself among 

The idyls of the stars unsung ; 

And the soft graces of the wood 

Should mingle ever with his blood. 

Until his earth-cleansed eyes could see 

Beyond the soul's veiled mystery. 



6o 



WILD WOOD CHIMES. 

Then to the weary world his song 

Should come as heart throbs warm and strong ; 

Within it there should ever ring 

The laughter of the happy spring, 

The forest's quiet scorn of ills, 

The strength of the unshaken hills, 

Faith, steadfast as the circling spheres, 

And hope triumphant over fears. 

Then with'ring doubt forever fled 

Should hide in shame his serpent head ; 

And the uplifted world should hail 

Her sister spheres beyond the veil. — 

A day-dream vain ! with ling'ring sigh 

I read thy doom*, thou passeth by. 



CHRISTMAS BELLS. 

Rondeau. 

ACROSS the fields there wakes and swells 
Afar the sound of Christmas bells; 
And listening in the starry night, 
My soul is stirred with strange delight. 
As from the earth's remotest cells 
A faint harmonious echo wells. 
And softly, sweetly, gladly tells 

The sleeping vale- and shrouded heights, 
"77/^ Christ is born.'" 



A BRIEF INTER VIE IV. 5 j 

O sing for joy, ye frozen fells ! 
Rejoice aloud, ye hollow dells ! 

His star ascendeth clear and bright, 

His kingdom cometh in its might, 

And peace with him forever dwells. — 

T/ie Christ is born. 



A BRIEF INTERVIEW. 

IVTA'Y, come not nearer, comrade of the brake, 

^ ^ Whose scaly curves enfold the fallen branch 

Like ghstening bands of polished ebony, 

I seek no close companionship with thee. 

I like not much thy forked darting tongue ; 

And in thy scintillating orbs, methinks 

I see red-handed murder's baleful gleam. 

I am no Mother Eve to be beguiled 

With all thy sleek, insinuating wiles ; 

The blood of innocents is on thy head. 

What, wilt thou not begone ? Why then must I 

My footsteps backward trace with creepy chill, 

As if some evil thing stole on my track ? 

I. harm thee not; the wood is wide. Not mine 

The guiltless hand to cast accusing stone. 

With such uncanny feelings 1 have held 
Converse with some in human form, whose wit 



62 



IVTLDIVOOD CHIMES. 

With swift electric touch transmuted oft 

The leaden hours into moments fraught 

\\"\{h the divinest fancy. When they went 

Across my threshold, out into the night, 

I 've glanced down at the sill with nervous thought 

Of witch-charms ; and half-guiltily have wished 

That it with holy water were besprent ; 

With vague uneasiness have flared the lami)s 

Up to their very brightest, and have urged 

The fire into crackling flames ; the while 

Have at my very foot-stool looked askance 

Lest into a black poodle it should turn. 

And still half-shivering to bed have crept 

Feeling that I had been holding, as now. 

An interview with Mephistopheles. 



I 



LIFE'S QUESTIONINGS. 

AX/ HO that hath listened, hath not heard arise 
^' From hearts dis(piieted with thoughts of death, 
Murmurs and anxious (juestionings like these — 
And destiny makes answer to them all : 

" When I am dead whose hand will bring 
To my^low grave some trace of spring? 
A token of remembrance brief 
Expressed by one unfolding leaf. 



LIFE'S QUESTIONINGS. g^ 

Will pluck for me the tinted flowers 
Within the forests waking bowers, 
Beneath whose shadows, faint and still, 
They whisper to the purling rill — 
Say, will no one to that lone spot 
Bring one pale blue forget-me-not ? " 

" Hush, restless heart, it can not be, 
The spring-time comes no more for thee. 
The woods with bursting buds are rife, 
But they shall crown the brow of life, 
And wave in garlands fresh and gay, 
Around the blue-eyed Queen of May. 
Yes, meet is spring-time's breezy mirth 
For every laughing child of earth ; 
And no sad memories may rise 
'Neath her sweet voice and beaming eyes." 

" When summer comes, shall not one rose 
Of all the waving tree bestows. 
By some true friend of days long fled 
Be plucked in memory of the dead ? 
One crimson rose, within whose breast 
The scented dew-drops lightly rest ; 
Or one spray of the trailing flower 
That decks the maiden's favored bower ? 
What hast thou for thine absent child, 
Thou queen of seasons, warm and wild ? " 

'' O, murmuring heart, why still lament ? 
All of thy summer days are spent; 



64 



IVILDIVOOD CHIMES. 

The roses blush 'neath Beauty's glance, 
'Midst song and laugh and flying dance 
They glow against her burnished hair ; 
Their subtile fragrance fills the air 
Where buoyant hearts, careless and firee, 
Are thrilled with music's witchery ; 
From scenes of mirth thou long hast fled — 
What to the living are the dead?" 

When the sweet summer sinks to rest 

Within the autumn's glowing breast, 

And dreamily the golden haze 

Creeps through the woodland's winding maze : 

When through the gloaming reapers come 

Singing the joyous ' Harvest-Home,' 

Will one regretful thought of me 

Arise on its soft melody 

And bid them cast a whispering wave 

Of scarlet leaves upon my grave?" 

'T is vain, sad heart ! Thinkest thou when 

The russet leaves bestrew the glen. 

When days are fair, and warm, and still, 

And gladly murmurs every rill, 

When round, bright moons through all the night 

Bathe the calm earth in softest light, 

That one full heart will less rejoice 

For mem'ry of an absent voice ? 

What have the radiant and gay 

To do with darkness and decay ? " 



LIFE'S QUESTIONINGS. gg 

'' When winter spreads his snowy pall 
Over the brilliant robe of fall, 
When all the grass is brown and sere 
And hollow winds are sad and drear, 
Whose hand for me a wreath will twine 
Of holly leaves or sighing pine? 
Of waving ferns, free and impressed, 
Light fringes from the mountain's crest — 
Blest season of the starry night, 
Shall I not share thy treasures bright?" 

" Still dost thou speak ? O, troubled heart, 
Thou art a thing from life apart. 
The banquet hall hath ferns and pine 
Reflected in its sparkling wine ; 
And holly berries glance in glee 
Where lingers not a trace of thee. 
Ah, who will quit the festal throng 
And pause where thou hast slumbered long. 
Leaving an ivy leaf to say : 
' I miss thee on this happy day'?" 

" Still, if above thy dreamless sleep 
The gray moss, even, should not creep, 
Why shouldst thou grieve ? Earth is but dust ; 
Her gems are clay, her gold is rust. 
And, somewhere, for the striving soul. 
There lies a fair, celestial goal. 
Beyond the dark'ning hand of time, 
'Midst choral symphonies sublime, 



55 IVILDIVOOD CHIMES. 

Where angel hands shall c ull for thee 
The flowers of Immortality." 



RESURGAM. 



T STOOD beside the ocean's broad expanse 

^ When silently the melancholy Night 

Her legions led against the dying sun. 

Far to the inland rose a lofty height, 

Gray-walled, and summit-crowned with somber pines, 

The incense of whose fragrant breathing crept 

About the beach, and mingled with the moan 

Of the sad waves, that evermore beat out 

Their weary lives against the answering rocks : 

And as I gazed a strange, magnetic thrill 

Of sympathy with the departing king 

Within my spirit rose. His face was cold ; 

Around him forms impalpable and dread, 

Were closing in ; and from the deep uprose 

Unnumbered shadowy arms to drag him down. 

He sank, but with his latest glance inscribed 

Upon the granite mountain's living page 

In burning letters : " I shall rise again." 

I walked where fierce December winds had -swept 
The forest bare of flowers, of leaves, and birds ; 
And under heavy skies the tuneless earth 



RESURGAM. 5y 

Lay scarred and blackened like a wasted life ; 
But kneeling low upon her frozen breast, 
I felt the strong, resistless tide of Life's 
Electric current flowing far beneath. 
I heard the warm hearts of the flowers beat 
In unison divine, and their soft tones 
Reverberating, low through nature's depths 
The joyful ptean : "I shall rise again." 

Within a shrouded chamber, in the chill, 

Unanswering company of death, I sat, 

Nor did I watch alone. Repulsive forms 

Around me thronged, and wrought their subtle spells 

Upon my soul ; and, like Laocoon 

Struggling in vain against the tightening folds 

Of the gigantic monsters of the sea. 

My spirit writhed beneath those icy bonds ; 

Beside me cold Annihilation raised 

Her mocking face, and whispered, " Look the last 

Upon yon soulless form — I claim my own." 

I turned my troubled gaze, and lo ! the dawn 
Of glorious Immortality had traced 
Upon the chiseled features of the dead, 
In joy and peace, ineffable : '• Although 
The grave consume me, I shall rise again." 



^g WILD WOOD CHIMES. 



IN OCTOBER. 



I SAID to my heart in October, 
October the golden and rare, 
When the glow of an Indian-summer 

Had melted into the blue air : 
O, low-beating heart, you are weary 

Beneath the brown earth's mellow crest, 
Asleep with a garland of lilies 

Like new-fallen snow on her breast, 
The sweet maiden, Summer, is lying, 

With zephyrs and perfume o'ercast — 
Not dead, O, not dead, but awaking 

Again when the winter is past. 
rU hide you away in her bosom 

From the drip of the pitiless rain. 
From the voice of the wind whose hoarse sobbing 

Has thrilled you and filled you with pain.'' 
So I wreathed its love-chambers with myrtle. 

Cast from them the cypress and pine. 
And filled them with orient roses, 

With starlight and incense divine. 
Ere I closed them there crept in, unbidden. 

The sorrowful cry of a bird, 
Low, thrilling with bitterest anguish 

The echoes it yet scarcely stirred. 



IN OCTOBER. 

But I said : " Let it be ; in the stillness, 

And perfume of roses so deep, 
Far down 'neath the wild winter riot, 

It surely will rest, it will sleep." 
From its white-bannered fane of Ambition 

I banished the demons afar ; 
I burnished the altar of Glory 

Till it shone with the light of a star ; 
But through the bare aisles there went wailin* 

The voices of storm and unrest. 
So old ! I had heard them forever 

Complain in unsatisfied quest : 
' Deep, deep let them lie," then, I whispered, 
"■ Those sounds of all tortures the worst. 

And 1 shall be free, for a season. 
From their turbulent voices accurst." 

So I buried my heart with the Summer, 

In her grave 'neath the sounding trees ; 
And lightly I fled with the sunbeams. 

Far away to the southern seas. 
' O, Life, let your tempest, unbridled, 

Break now o'er the shuddering main," 
I said, '' for my heart lies in quiet. 

Remembering not its old pain." 



69 



In vain, O my heart, the wild voices 

Of dreary December, to-night, 
Call loudly of wreck and of ruin, 



70 



IVILDWOOD CHIMES. 

Of tempest, of madness, and blight. 
They wake and make answer — those voices 

'Hiat vexed thee, of storm and unrest — 
Far off, 'neath the dark forest lying 

Clasped close to the Summer's still breast. 
And faintly, above their wild clamor. 

There wails the low cry of a bird. 
The hemlocks have heard it and whisper, 

The cypress-tree listened and stirred." 

Is there rest from the pitiless beating. 
The voices, the moan of the blast. 

In the still summer-land of Hereafter, 
When life's dreary winter is past ? 



THE GOSSIP. 



HER name is legion ; and her likeness — well, 
'T is hard to find a fitting parallel. 
For hke the unclean sprites of Spenser's rhyme, 
Her changeful visage ever suits the time. 
With features sanctified, and placid mien. 
In holy sanctuaries she is seen. 
The brow which bends before the sacred feast 
Oft wears the hidden signet of the beast. 
This blushing maiden, fair as a pink pearl. 
Can any evil lurk in this sweet girl ? 



THE GOSSIP. -^ 

O skeptic, from her curved lips as she sleeps 

The red mouse of the Brocken softly creeps. 

A vampire, battening in the warm life stream 

From sleeping victims drawn she well might seem ; 

But vampires haunt unhallowed night alone, 

And she, all times and seasons are her own. 

A ghoul at its foul feast in church-yard dread ? 

O no; ghouls banquet only on the dead. 

A viper hissing forth its poison sprays ? 

Nay, vipers lurk not in familiar ways. 

Vain search ! Of loathsome slimy things which creep 

The earth, or in the felon's dungeon deep 

On frightful dreams arise like sorcery, 

There lives not aught abhorred and foul as she. 

May she be known ? Ay, truly may she be. 

Would you be warned the tests are fair and free ; 

Place her amid the fairest flowers that bloom, 

Mark how she sickens 'neath their rare perfume 

And. seeks, with all a miser's anxious greed. 

The fetid odors of the one rank weed. 

When the wood-thrushes on a thousand hills 

Are fluting out their soft, harmonious trills, 

She will hear naught but echoes scarcely stirred 

By one green-spotted toad you had not heard. 

With changeful opal gems her pathway strew. 

And see her still her eager search pursue 

Amid their unseen splendor's ceaseless play. 

Till she hath found the lump of common clay. 

If in her hands a character you place. 

Composed of gentle loveliness and grace. 



72 



WILD WOOD CHIMES. 

Of Stainless truth and charity benign, 

With cunning haste she '11 rend the structure fine 

To find the leper-spot behind the screen, 

The one small pit which you had never seen. 

However fair, however richly dressed, 

Once known, avoid her as you would the pest. 



POESY. 

' Rondeau. 

T ASKED a boon. The gods on high 

^ Were dumb, till Pity with a sigh, 
Plucking a hollow reed, arose — 
A hollow reed was all she chose 

And gave. The gates were shut, and I 

With rueful heart and lips all dry 

Essayed the slender gift to try 

And touched the charmed fount that flows 
From Helicon. 

I breathe the breath of gods. I lie 

On golden shores of Arcady ; 
And softly life forever goes, 
The world forgotten and its woes, 

AVhile I with all the gods may vie 
On Helicon. 



MEMORY. w^ 



MEMORY. 



T^HE realm of the Past ! It lies far away 
^ In silence, unbroken and dread. 
Its shadowy light widens not into day ; 
But moonshine and stars hold their mystical sway ; 
And cold is the glist of each motionless ray 

That lights the pale land of the dead — 
That shrouds with a silvery mist-veil of tears 
The crypt of the lost and beautiful years. 

In vain do we reach our hand toward that shore, 

Oblivion's wave rolls between. 
It widens forever ; and still evermore 
Flows silently over the legends of yore. 
Lost jewels, the rarest of w^isdom's bright store. 

Forgotten, unwept, and unseen. 
Its desolate calm unstirred by the sweep 
Of white-winged ships coming in from the deep. 

Yet we freighted our ships with many a bale 
- And saw them grow small to our sight. 
And year after year, till the hours grow pale 
We wearily watch for the gleam of a sail. 
Our hearts rise and fall with each wavering gale ; 
Our hopes fade alike with the light ; 



74 



WILD WOOD CHIMES. 

Yet are they sailing to us is unknown. 

On what nameless seas by the wild tempests blown. 

Oft as we pause on the star-gilded strand 

Awaiting the flush of the dawn, 
A phantom steals slowly o'er driftwood and sand, 
And gathers the shells with a trembling hand ; 
Touching the waves with her magical wand 

They murmur like streams that are gone — 
And softly, sweet music floats o'er the shore, 
Songs half-forgotten, yet missed evermore. 

Sung by the voices long since unheard, 

Dreamful as strains the gnome-bard sings ; 
With the rhythm and rhyme of leaves that are stirred 
By a half-breathed sigh, or a half-spoken word; 
By the quivering trill of a distant bird, 

Or the rustle of silken wings. 
Ah, whence does it come — this melody ?• 
Do our ships sail in from the unknown sea? 

We listen ; the hopes in our bosoms surge high. 

"At last I They are coming at last ! " 
But the waves sink in silence, the sweet echoes die ; 
The glimmering daylight steals on the eye ; 
The shadowy form as a mist-wreath goes by ; 

The dream of enchantment is past. 
The shores resound with tumultuous tread. 
For life is abroad, the night dream is dead. 



LINES. ^c 

Yes, the world comes out with its scheming brain, 

Its careless heart and bustling feet ; 
And we follow the current of life again, 
Holding the links of a broken chain 
Scattered and crushed by the laboring wain, 

Still warm with magic, old and sweet — 
For 't was wrought by Memory's trembling hands 
Out of treasures culled on the mystic sands. 

Though all may smile, and many may sneer. 

That we cherish a thing so sHght, 
To us 't is the key of a happier sphere 
Where again we shall meet with the all missed here, 
Unfanned by a sigh and undimmed with a tear 

On the shores of eternal light. 
Where, safe in the beautiful havens, we 
Shall meet with the ships we have lost at sea. 



LINES 

Suggested by the Grave of Roberta Edmiston. 

]\T0 transient guest is Sorrow. She doth move 
^ ^ With leaden footsteps, heavier day by day ; 
And on their mournful echoes still arise 
The tender mem'ries of our loved and lost. * 
With falt'ring step of age and spent with toil ; 
With manhood's strong ambitions yet undimmed ; 



76 



WILD wo on CHIMES. 

Or breathing still the tender grace of youth — 

Even as a child turns from a broken toy, 

They put aside this living warmth, and pass 

Into the silence of Eternity. 

And as we stand, with hot rebellious hearts, 

Beside their sodden graves, 'tis hard to lay 

Our selfishness aside, and say for them — 

For the unnumbered dead — that it is well. 

Life's fairest flowers are plucked from desert soil ; 

Its lightest breeze is heavy with the weight 

Of sighs and bitter tears ; and well we know 

The key-note of its sweetest songs is pain. 

Is there not comfort then, for those whose grief 

Falls like a winter rain, in the dear words, 

" Sheltered and safe from sorrow " are the dead ? 

I look ujjon the monument — an urn 
Half-veiled and with closed lid — which stands 
Above this sweet, dead girl, and unto me 
It seems an emblem of the life which is; 
A prophecy of that which is to come. 
Enclosed and shrouded from our mortal gaze 
Are the deep mysteries of love and grief; 
But in the still serenity that lies 
Within the confines of the great Beyond, 
AVhere all these changeful voices are at rest, 
Shall we not find the pure white urn of Life, 
Its crystal fullness then unveiled, for aye. 
And from its peaceful bosom gather up 



DREAM-HA UNTED. 

77 



The ruined fragments of our broken hopes 
Into one blest and pure reahty ? 



DREAM-HAUNTED. 

T^HE sky was wonderfully bright 
^ That shone upon his infant face ; 
But o'er his head one brilliant star 
Sadly withdrew her golden grace. 

Within the northland, bleak and far, 
The fierce wild winds were firmly tied ; 

But one sad zephyr claimed the hour, 
And ling'ring round his cradle sighed. 

And from that hour his life was charmed 
Beyond the power of word or deed ; 

Ever he wandered forth alone. 

Dream-haunted by each stream and mead, 

And sometimes when the quiet tears 
Of summer fell in gentle showers 

And one sad zephyr shook them down 
From the half-opened meadow-flowers, 



78 



IV I L D IV O O D CHIMES. 

Reclined amid the rushes green 

That whispered by the gHding riv^, 

His hollow-reed awoke sweet notes 
Unheard before and lost forever. 

The carol of each bird was hushed ; 

The wond'ring river paused to see, 
As back and forth the rushes swayed, 

If Pan alive again might be. 

He little recked the sons of strife 

Passed by that way, nor stayed to hear ; 

His music was the echoing 

Of spirit whispers, soft and clear. 

He loved his mother, Nature, well, 
Nor cared he other friend to seek ; 

She soothed him in her faithful arms 
With tuneful numbers, pure and meek. 

And when at length, asleep for aye, 

He lay upon her gentle breast, 
No one in passing paused to say : 

''Peace to thee; soul, take thou thy rest." 

He knew it not ; but if a bird 

Whose broken wing he bound, poured out 
Her sorrow to the starless night. 

If wandering the world about, 



MV NEfGHBORS. 



79 



That one sad zephyr sighed in vain 
For trace of him on Ifind or sea, 

Surely, in dreams it grieved him yet- 
Forgotten they could never be. 



MY -NEIGHBORS. 

^'T^IS little things that make or break our rest; 

■^ And darkest.hours reveal our strength or weakness. 
So, when tjie petty darts my neighbors cast, 
By malice winged, and in detraction steeped, 
Had reached their mark, what wonder for an hour 
My narrow walls- encompassed all the w^orld. 
And that was, rue and wormwood unto me. 
What wonder in the bitterness tliat sprang 
From sense of wrong, and withering disgust 
That womanhood could stoop so low, I said, 
" The brazen armor that my neighbors wear 
Is full of flaws which a true shaft might pierce ; 
And why permit a poison reptile thus 
To trail its slimy length across my way, 
Nor hurl it back into the seething depths 
Of envy whence it crept ? " Then tl^e low tones 
Of those true friends of old, the wind and rain, 
Outside my window, sang my wrath away, 
Until upon their gentle numbers borne. 
The spirit of the ages talked with me. 



8o 



WILD WOOD CHIMES. 



The ceaseless sweep of wide encircling seas ; 

The lonely grandeur of enduring hills ; 

Voices of subterranean depths profound ; 

The rustling wings of myriad growing things ; 

The gentle breathing of unfolding leaves — 

All the low whispers of the living earth 

Within my pulses made sweet melody. 

And with the clearer vision which attends 

On widening knowledge, I beheld the spheres 

Rolling in harmony divine ; and heard 

The wondrous anthem of the uni\ erse. 

Then far beneath me seemed the troubled moan 

Of a vexed world, where I beheld a mass 

Of struggling beings — men, my brothers — each 

With lep'rous sores in that clear light made bare, 

Toiling with weary footsteps toward the abyss 

That we call death. And in my heart the ti^es 

Of pity and remorse surged like a sea. 

"Is it thy hand," questioned my soul, " that still 

Into another's cankered wounds would pour 

The poison gall of passion and revenge ? 

Only a little while and the swift winds 

Shall search, and find no trace on land or sea, 

Of all who hate or love. A tiny span, 

And the frail barriers of time and space 

And death, even as a foam-wreath shall dissolve ; 

Then truth, and purity, and love, alone, 

Shall find the immortality beyond." 

Ah, nobler far than he who wins a world 



COMRADE WIND. 



Is one, in conscious right impregnable, 

Who hears, yet answers not, a sland'rous tongue. 



COMRADE WIND. 



/^^OMRADE wind, how fast you fly. 
^-^ Stay a moment, it is I 



Calling to you from the gloom 
Of a care-enshrouded room. 

Where the shadows weave for me 
Grayest web of destiny. 

I would follow you once more 
Through the vanished days of yore ; 

Sing with you the olden rhymes. 
Ring vith you the wildwood chimes ; 

In the March-time rocking still 
In hickory saplings on the hill, 

Sometimes low and sometimes high. 
Comrade wind, yourself and I 



82 



Vy/LDIVOOD CHIMES. 

Tossing in tumultuous glee, 
As the birds in summer free ; 

While the lowing, speckled herd 
The dry grass beneath, us stirred, 

While the tinkle, tinkle still 
Of a bell came from the hill 

Where the bleating, fleecy flocks 
Nibbled fern amid the rocks. 

How we mocked them, you and 1, 
Swinging low, and swinging high. 

While I listen, to me sing 
Softly of the happy spring, 

When the child-year, full of glee. 
Wakes his gladdest minstrelsy. 

Does the broomsedg^e on the plain 
Shake her yellow locks again 

O'er the nest the partridge hid • 
Deep the tangled grass amid ? 

Are the dogwood twigs aglow 
With the secret that we know ? 



COMRADE WIND. 

Do the maple branches shine 
Redder than the clearest wine ? 

Is the spice-bud's slender crown 
Turning to a golden brown ? 

Are the willows varnished o'er 
With the glory that they wore 

When we roused the sleeping stream 
From its chilly winter dream ? 

Sail the cloud boats rapidly 
As they did when you and I 

O'er the meadows dawnmg green 
Chased the flying shade and sheen ? 

Ah, how fast you speed along ! 
You are still so swift and strong. 

Now I hear the -cadence free 
Of the brown wren's minstrelsy 

As he plasters 'neath the eaves 
Mud and straw and silken leaves; 

And the blue-bird's twittering 
In the snag beside the spring, 



83 



JVILDWOOD CHIMES. 

Where the dainty wind-flower wore 
Ruffled cape and pinafore — 

Elfin maiden, fair and good — 
In the fringes of the wood. 

Now the throbbing echoes come 
Of the pheasant's muffled drum ; 

And the speckled thrush's song. 
Like a bell-note, clear and strong, 

Rings above the sloping land 

Where the smooth-limbed red-buds stand, 

Dressed in jMnk from frock to snood. 
Blushing in the leafless wood. 

Onward, softly now we sweep 
Through the orchard grasses deep, 

Shaking down the tinted hair 
Of the apple-blossoms there ; 

Setting all the incense free 
Of each flower-laden tree ; 

Breaking every shining thread 
Mischief-plotting spiders spread. 



COMRADE WIND. 

Close the speckled eggs are pressed 
'Neath the cat-bird's dusky breast ; 

Filled with mirth and mocking glee, 
Her glad mate sings ceaselessly. 

While the swallows dip and rise 
From the river to the skies — 

Nothing half so free you sing, 
As a swallow in the spring. 

Are you weary ? Shall we stay 
In this bower of the May, 

Where the wild plum blossoms keep 
In their white hearts buried deep, 

vSomething — Ah, why do you sigh ? 
Faster, faster let us fly. 

Yet your voice seems hoarser grown ; 
Something strange is in its tone ; 

And your shouts no longer ring 
With the gladness of the spring. 

Comrade, comrade, is it I ? 
So to others do you sigh ? 



85 



gg IVILDWOOD CHIMES. 

Is the world still in its tune 
Through the moonlit nights of June ? 

What is it in you I hear ? 
Cadences of many a tear ; 

Muffled sighs that seem to creep 
From the crypts where buried deep 

Many a fair ambition lies 
Under gray, unpitying skies. 

It was you who wrapped me 'round 
As I lay upon the ground 

And in midnights dusky haze 
Veiled my face from mortal gaze ; 

It was you who stole the pain 
From the voices crying " Vain I " 

Easing all the secret smart 

Of my young, untutored heart ; 

It was you who brought the balm 
From the starlit regions calm, 

Tuned anew the harp of life 
To the higher, nobler strife. 



THE GOSPEL PIONEER. gy 

Comrade mine, your voice is low, 
Whither, whither, must you go ? 

In my heart your songs I keep ; 
Oft I hear them in my sleep ; 

Let your parting message be 
Full of tenderness for me. 

Thus you answer, '^1 shall come 
When to others thou art dumb ; 

I shall whisper low to thee — 

And thou, dear heart, will answer me."' 



THE GOSPEL PIONEER, 

\ X /HERE lies the land that does not sepulcher 

' ^ Heroic dead ? Where desolation broods 
O'er the white solitude of voiceless heights, 
Deep in the rifted glacier's breast they lie 
In changeless beauty Avhile the ages roll. 
Above them drift the desert's burning sands ; 
And ancient catacombs have shut them in ; 
Their bones lie deep beneath the cold gray stone 
Of frowning monuments in mighty lands; 
And the dark sea their parting prayer has heard. 



gg H^ILDIVOOD CHIMES. 

There lies no spot obscure where they are not. 

And rich are West Virginia's woody vales 

With her forgotten heroes' scattered dust ; 

Her verdure ripens and the tall grain waves 

Above the mold of many a kingly heart. 

And who have left more noble legacies 

To any land than these have left to us ? 

Redeemed the wilderness. Its roses bloom 

In calm content by many a winding stream 

Where templed cities raise their heavenward spires ; 

And grateful thousands chant the songs of praise 

Where once the war-whoop's fearful sound arose. 

Then let historic page their record keep, . 

The sculptor's art their deathless story tell ; 

And their heroic deeds live in the songs 

The poet sings. So, shall their memory live 

Green in a nation's heart forevermore. 

One- hundred years ago he went not forth — 

This hero of my verse — with polished lance, 

In knightly garb and pomp of heraldry. 

To the great batde for his Lord and King. 

Ill-dad, ill-fed, alone, his only guides 

The trend of waters, the emblazoned pine 

And living scrolls inscribed upon the stems 

Of moss-grown trees, and the unchanging stars 

By night. Beneath his feet the deadly coil 

Of hidden reptiles lurked. The fierce-eyed wolves 

Glared on him from the dusk ; and on his track 

The crouching panther drew his sinuous length. 



THE GOSPEL PIONEER. gg 

No matin song nor requiem the sun 

Received from singing bird. Alone was heard 

The soHtary eagle's scream, the croak 

Of hoarse-voiced raven, the ill-boding moan 

Of melancholy owl. Yet, it may be, 

Prophetic murmurs from the snowy bloom 

Of the wild service came where crooning bees 

Revealed the secrets of the coming years. 

The pine-capped heights were silent witnesses 

Of the Eternal Power : and the deep voice 

Of falling waters sang His majesty. 

Here in these lonely wilds the soul of man 

Attained the measure of the solemn wood ; 

And he who bore Salvation's tidings wTought 

With purpose strong as death. No needless care 

For food and raiment came to vex his heart — 

Were not the ravens fed ? the wild beasts housed ? 

His feet were shod with safety, for the world 

Had not its glittering meshes 'round them cast : 

And souls to him were given for his hire. 

The gloomy shadows of the pathless wood 

Imbued his faith with their own somber hues ; 

And crying in the wilderness, like one 

Of old, his voice was heard proclaiming wrath 

In Sinai's awful thunders unto man. 

Not yet was heard the still small voice of love, 

In the soft whispers of eternal peace. 

And milder mercies of the later law. 

Oppressed with secret fear his spirit still 

Upon its onward journey marked the path 



90 



IFILDIVOOD CHIMES. 

That grateful millions travel toward the light. 
''Servant of God," the herald angels sang, 
'' Well done." Beneath his name a nation writes: 
" Well done." 

Woe to the watchman of to-day 
Whose trumpet issues an uncertain sound; 
Lest in the world's gay songs of revelry 
The note be lost, or all too faintly come 
l^nto the sleeping. Armed with mighty truth, 
Still let his voice be heard throughout the land, 
Crying both night and day ; and his reward 
Shall be the glory of the Lord whose word 
Shall stand when Heaven and earth have passed away 



IN THE FIRELIGHT. 

\ \ /"HEN the day has folded its cares away, 
^^ And out from the corners peeping, 
The shadows muster tlieir (]uaint array, 

And over the room come creeping; 
When the dying coals into phantoms grow. 

And the pale flame, lapping under, 
Like a wizard mutters its fancies low, 

With my hands at rest, I wonder : 



IN THE FIRELIGHT. ^ j 

> 

If the bards who lived when the world was young- 
Heard only the white stars singing ; 

If the chattering apes around them hung, 
Or asps with their hiss and stinging ; 

If they plucked their bays with a slavish hand, 
To the world's will basely kneeling ; 

Or sang as the reeds by the river sand, 
The soul of a God revealing ; 

If the argent shield of the oldeii time, 

With its grand devices graven, 
Was a mask for the foul, unknightly crime 

Of a dastard heart and craven ; 
And if honor pledged was a fitful jest. 

If truth was ail idle seeming. 
And faith but the shadowy thing, at best, 
. It seems in our firelight dreaming. 

Had they cleaner hands, those priests of old, 

Who stood in the sacred places. 
Than the ones we know, in their baseness bold, 

With their smooth, deceitful faces? 
Ah, I wonder if since the world began. 

The angels have been no nigher ; 
And if ever this curious life to man, 

Meant half of his strong desire. 

Over and over and over again, 
Like an incantation weaving 



92 



WILD WOOD CHIMES. 

The fire-wraith mutters his fancies vain, 

In tones of a fitful grieving ; 
And my thought, Hke the flame, still ponders o'er 

The problem of life's endeavor, 
For a clue to the soul's unwritten lore, 

But an answer findeth never. 



AT THE KING'S GATE. 

T^HERE lived a king who, weary of the strife 
^ That wins not, and the questionings that gain 
An answer nevermore, sought out a vale 
Embowered deep within the Orient ; 
And there beneath its waving palm-groves built 
Him chambered palaces wherein he quaffed 
Life's changeful pleasures, warm as the deep glow 
That lives within the rose's crimson heart. 
There on the tuneful echoes of each day 
The night flowed in with song and revelry ; • 
While from the tamarinds the nightingales 
Filled all the listening dusks with melody. 
And weaving still amid the fleeting hours 
Their subtle" ministries of soft delight, 
Each in her changing beauty ever fair, 
.With footfall echole&s around him came 
The daughters light of music and of love. 
But when the song was sweetest, and the wine 



AT THE KING'S GATE. 

Quivered like flame within its crystal bowl, 

The laugh died on his lips, and o'er his brow, 

A sudden darkness as of inward pain 

Its leaden shadows hung ; and starting up 

Like one who hears a signal call, he sought 

Afar the palm-grove's deepest solitude : 

And prone in its perennial verdure sunk 

He strove to grasp the haunting mysteries 

That sapped the hidden fountain of his joys. 

For, ever as he reveled to his ear 

Low, wailing tones unheard of others came ; 

And when he drank within the cup there gleamed, 

In pallid mockery, a wondrous pearl 

That vanished with the bubbles from his sight. 

From the pomegranate bough he. plucked the fruit, 

And on its golden circle traced strange words 

That shook his heart with dread. Oft in the hush 

Of night, through his unquiet slumber crept 

The subtile presence of a thing divine. 

Myrrh-wafting fragrance, breathing softest dews 

Of healing o'er his fretted brain ; and on 

His waking sight a moment shone a crown 

Of purest immortelles, all luminous 

With the white glory of the fadeless stars, 

That evermore dissolved into the night, 

And in his eager fingers left no trace. 

Long in that melancholy calm which soothed 

Him not, he lingered, while the fountain dropped 

Its silver rain into the hollow leaves. 

Led by the shining cross, the starry host 



94 



IV J LD WOOD CHIMF.S. 

In silence fled before the gleaming dawn. 

From the far heights swept down the cooling winds 

And through the lone acacia's yellow strands 

Their waves of mournful music washed ; and once 

Again the old, dark mystery arose. 

But soft and clear the phantom voices said : 

We are the voices of thy starving soul, 

O, faithless, still to tarry. Lo, she waits 

'Beyond the leper's gate. "• 

Hie linted hands 
Of morning twilight rose, and t*lie great bird 
Of paradise his opal feathers preened 
Beside the singing foimtain. Time sped on. 
But nevermore beneath the drifting shade 
Of wefted palm-trees passed the haunted king. * 



A wasted form in tattered pilgrim garb 

Alone in death lay on the desert sands : 

His unshod feet upon the burning path 

Had left their crimson mark ; and the foul breath 

Of loathsome pestilence about him clung. 

But on his leprous bosom gleamed a pearl 

From out the sea immortal ; and a crown 

Of purest immortelles, all luminous 

With light divine, with fragrant glon^: crowned 

That empty casket of a ransomed soul. 



THE BLUE FLOWER. q- 



THE BLUE FLOWER. 

T IKE the chiming of bells heard in dreams half-remem- 
*— ' bered, 

Their melodies float on the stillness of time, 
Those voices of ceaseless, soul-seeking endeavor, 
The hunger and pain and the thirsting forever 

Of mortals who faint in the desert of life 
For unfailing draughts from the fountain sublime. 

Hence this legend that lives in the Orient golden — 
The quest of the blue fairy flower that brings 

To the brow^ that it blesses a surcease of aching, 

And rest unto hearts that are weary to breaking ; 
For the satisfied calm of the soul evermore 

Within this fair blossom has folded its wings. 

Hast thou found it ? O radiant child of the morning, 
Thyself like the grace of a wild brier-rose ; 

With the clear-seeing eyes of a spirit untainted. 

With the warm dimpled mouth where the seraphs have 
painted 
No trace of the world's idle wisdom nor scorning, 

By the reed-shadowed rill hast thou found where it grows ? 



96 



WILDIVOOD CHIMES. 



O, woman, whose eyes love-anointed yet linger 

On the fair shining heads of thy heart's rosary, 

On the soft tender arms which around thee are clinging, 

On the joy-birds of home which around thee are singing, 
Their unwritten songs of delight evermore, 

Hast thou found the blue flower? Does it blossom for 
thee ? 

Does it gleam 'midst the snows of the mist-shrouded 
heights 

Of wisdom, O man, where thou standest alone 
By the unlettered graves of the seekers, thy brothers, 
With thy pitying hands full of healing for others 

Whose spirits are worn with the fever of living. 
In its redolent balm hast thou strengthened thine own ? 

Nay, ye seek it in vain where the shadows of death 
Enshroud the far heights and embitter each slope ; 

But its perfume is borne through the half-open portal 

That shuts from our longing the city immortal ; 

And pilgrims far down the deep valleys of sorrow. 

Grow strong as they breathe the sweet fragrance of hope. 



SOA'-S OF CYDIPPE. 



SONS OF CYDIPPE. 

pROM a long-vanished town of ancient Greece, 

-*■ Engirt with waving pahiis and oHve groves, 

This record sprung; and the strong flood of time 

Upon its tossing bosom bore to me 

An echo of its mournful melody. 

In Argos old, a city by the sea, 

Within the full sound of its floAving tide, 

A mighty temple reared its brazen towers 

Against the sun ; and hither, with the glow 

Of noon-tide came a throng of worshipers. 

Slowly the vast procession rolled along 

Resistless as the ocean billows' sweep ; 

And as it neared the temple gate, anon, 

A burst of joyous acclamation rose 

Above its lofty arches to the skies. 

And far away in thrilling echoes died 

On the warm breeze that rocked the myrtle boughs. 

Behold the cause ! Within a chariot, drawn 

W^ith toil o'er weary miles, by her two sons, 

Cydippe, daughter of an ancient house. 

And Juno's favored Priestess, sat. 

Her spotless drapery, and unbound hair. 

Floated upon the incense-laden breeze ; 

And the dark splendor of her steadfast eyes 



98 



< ( ( 



WILD WOOD CHIMES. 

Enwrapped the stalwart figures of her sons, 
Biton and Cleobis ; those pious youths 
Who, when no oxen could be found to draw 
Their mother's chariot to the temple gates, 
Themselves the service joyously performed. 
For this the lofty domes of Argos rang 
With acclamations of her populace. 

The sacred rites were o'er. Cydippe knelt 

Alone, before the altar's holy flame ; 

And the still rapture on her perfect face 

Shone like the moonlight on a far-off lake ; 

While from her lips a sweet, awed whisper fell. 

Ask what thou wilt.' Oh, blessed voice that spoke 

Those gracious words to my beseeching soul I 

Yet, how my full heart trembles with the weight 

Of its great joy. What is the promised boon 

That I shall claim for them — my pious sons ? 

For Cleobis, whose gentle nature seeks 

Its warmth in loving hearts, the household shrine, 

And the calm current of a life beloved. 

Were best. But what for him? — my gifted boy 

Whose earnest eyes have kindled at the tale 

Of conflict, and of glory from a child. 

Have not the whispers of ambition thrilled 

My feebler ])ulses with a strange delight ? 

For- him — and yet — if my weak, mortal light 

Should err. If I should bring upon my sons 

A blight, instead of blessing — Gracious Power, 

Thy feeble servant hath not light to choose. 



so ATS OF CVDirPE. 

Thou knowest the gift for mortals best. Oh, grant 

Thine own best guerdon unto these, my sons." 

As sunbeams fall into the ocean's breast, 

Fell on her heart the words: "Thy prayer is heard." 

Softly the morning light on Argos dawned ; 
And with its first pale gleam, Cydippe sought 
The chamber of her sons. Ah, who was there ? 
The shadow of an unseen Presence filled 
That spacious room, and cast its nameless dread 
Upon her soul. " Wearied they do but sleep. 
Awake, my sons, it is your mother calls." 
They answered not. Without lay Life, rocking 
Upon the hollow seas. Within sat Death. 

O, ye who stand upon the shores of Time, 
And watch the cufrent of relentless Fate, 
Bear your hope-freighted barks against the rocks, 
Turn from the mournful wreck your yearning gaze, 
And bending low above the grassy mounds, 
Where in the deep serenity of death, 
Lie hearts that nevermore shall throb and ache 
With life's great burden of unceasing pain- 
Exclaim with thankfulness, ''This is the best:' 



jQQ WILDU^OOD CHIMES. 



CRICKET SONG. 

SOMETIMES when the fire in the grate is low, 
When the room lies dim in the crimson glow, 
And the grandfather's dock ticks loud and strong. 
There's a sound of mirth 
On the clean-swept hearth ; 
The crickets are singing their evening song. 

And we sometimes hear through the chorus shrill 

The echoing clack of a water-mill ; 

And the whirring hum of a spinning-wheel 

Like a soothing rhyme 

Rings a drowsy chime 
With the purling sound of a shadowy reel. 

From the sunken graves on the hills afar. 
Past each rusty bolt, and each crumbling bar 
Of the silent land have the old folks come 

Through the open door 

Of the quaint folklore, 
To sit by the fire in their sometime home. 

But the firelight shines on no silvered head ; 
No faltering feet o'er the carpet tread, 
And no dim eyes gleam in the fading light, 

But their voices strong 

In the crickets' song. 
We hear in the hush of the passing night. 



INDIAN PIPES. 

Ah, welcome them back to the warm, sweet hfe- 
Though pleasant is rest from its wearing strife— 
In the form of the crickets brown they come, 
When the fire is low, 
And the night-winds blow, 
To bask in the light of their old-time home. 



INDIAN PIPES. 

Rondeau. 

DEYOND the fields of lowing kine, 
'-^ Within a solitude divine, 

Where drowsy Summer deftly weaves 
Her fancies into beechen leaves. 
These spirit flowers softly shine 
Like waxen tapers on a shrine ; 
Or vases filled with ^seeded wine 

That some Circean revel grieves, — 
In Camden Wood. 

I drift across the shadow line 

That lies between thy home and mine, 

And wrapped in Fancy's silken sleeves, 
I find within her charmed sheaves, 
O, Fairyland, these elves of thine 

In Camden Wood. •♦ 



U 'IL D J1 '00 D CHIMES. 



AS MEMORY TELLS IT O'ER. 

TT is December, and the winds rehearse 
* The memories of long ago. They send 
Their shrilly prophecies against the dread 
Cold silences our coming feet shall wake. 
On the near hills where fadeless beauty lives 
The frozen snow-wreaths lie ; and icicles 
Are hanging from the wild bird's empty nest 
Wind-tossed upon the cral)-tree's withered bough. 
And like the burden of a heart that bears 
Its bitterness alone, the sullen clouds 
Hang low and heavily above the earth. 
The wood, all frozen to its sapless core, 
With naked arms outstretched stands desolate. 
No warmth of living heart within its l)Ound 
Save in yon hedge where once the brier-rose 
Her pink cheek laid against the long, long days, 
The crouching rabbit in the shriveled leaves 
Nestles his timid palpitating heart. 
While from a knotted oak, at intervals, 
A fitful knocking sounds muffled and low 
And echoless as the sad voice of one 
Who sobs and calls beside a sunken grave. 
O, soul of mine, with secret care oppressed. 
The never-lifting shadows ot to-day 



AS MEMO J? V TELLS IT O'ER. j^^ 

Too heavily their arms about us close. 

Then turn we gladly from the dreary pane 

To these red embers glowing like the heart 

Of an unfailing love; and close beside 

With folded hands of idleness enforced, 

We '11 sit and dream that we have never worn 

The crown of thorns that womanhood bestows, 

Nor drained the bitter cup her hand hath held. 

But with the morning and the meadow grass. 

The cool blue violets which grew therein, 

The mellow hum of wild bees riflino- 

The bloomy locusts of their perfumed sweets, 

The twitter of bank-swallows on the wands 

Of waving willows, and the wordless joy 

Of rushing waters, we will breathe again 

The airs of childhood's fair enchanted realm, 

Long lost to view, to memory still most dear. 

Thou art, for aye, .eternal, land divine ! 

Thy verdure grows beside unfailing streams 

Whose sources lie upon the happy hills 

Sun-bathed forevermore. Euroclydon 

Hath not the power to break the frailest link 

Of thy white daisy-chains, nor toss adrift 

One hovering butterfly or thistledown. 

Thy skies are ever cloudless and serene ; 

Thy joy-birds sing amid the fragrant leaves 

In the green forests of perennial May ; 

And faint and far the elfin voices ring 

Of those — the shining ones — whose dimpled feet 



jQ^ IVILDIVOOD CHIMES. 

Stand fast and sure amid the fadeless bloom 
Of drifted springtimes on thy deathless shore. 

Who does not love the hallowed soil whereon 
His infant feet have trod ? his own dear lan.d, 
His country and his home. Who has not felt 
The bounding pulse of all her heroes thrill 
Within his veins, and climbed on stepping-stones 
Of their strong souls unto a loftier height ? 
Who has not felt the wrongs of all her sons 
Burn like a Hving flame within his breast, 
And veiled his eyes before the memory 
Of all her woes ? Whence is the subtle charm ? 
Is it in vale or hill or rolling stream, 
The skies that bend above us, or the waft 
Of winged winds? Nay, question not; but know 
There is a power whose potent spell outlasts 
The fleeting years, a hidden cord that draws 
Our wand'ring footsteps home from alien shore. 

O West Virginia ! on thy oak-clad hills 
How fair the summer sunlight falls, how swift 
And clear the many streams whose music dwells 
Within thy narrow vales, where calm content 
Sits brooding o'er the humble joys of home ! 
Thy boast is not thy gracious heritage ■ 
Of Old Dominion pride and chivalry — 
Though these are much ; but in the hardy hands 
And lion hearts that won with blood and toil 
The freedom of this mountain land beloved, 



AS MEMORY TELLS IT O'ER. jqj- 

And to their children gave strong frames, strong minds, 
Strong hearts, strong faith, and reverential souls. 
He well may pause who from thy peaceful shores 
His footsteps turn. Where shall the wanderer seek 
Skies in their changeful beauty fair as thine ? 
Where shall he find more tender hearts or true, 
More helpful hands, or rest his weary form 
Beside such hospitable warmth as lights 
Thy humblest hearth ? O, heavily will rest 
The mold of other clime upon his grave ! 

My native hills, from childhood's earliest years 
Thy many charms within my heart have fed 
The fervent fires of deep, abiding love. 
Rough are thy nursing arms, yet strong and true. 
Harsh are thy cradle songs, yet he who hears, 
To Nature's harmonies attunes his soul, 
7^0 her full stature grows ; and unto him 
Shall come the heritage of truth, of hope. 
Of patience, and the scorn of meaner things. 



io6 



IV I LD WOOD CHIMES. 



I. 



The sloping valley, if indeed, a space. 
So narrow could be called a vale, ran down 
Between the ridges of uneven hills 
Whose bristling crest of oak the lightning's brand. 
And sport of wrecking winds alone had marred. 
Not half-way up the woodman's ax had rung ; 
Yet many a stretch of rich dark cornland lay 
Around their base, and up each narrow cove 
Had crept; while, in and out, green pasture fields 
And meadow lands embraced the shining brook. 
Whose stream of liquid silver filtered through 
The beds of russet leaves on hill-sides spread, 
As down from the gray-lichened rock it fell — 
A thread of living light most musical — 
With Its wild call for the beyond ; the cry 
Which ever finds an echo in the strong, 
Impatient heart of youth. And sofdier now 
Along the dark ravine it quickly fled, 
Where slender birches waved their graceful arms. 
And hemlock whispers od'rous greeting sent ; 
Against the convent walls of many a rock 
Where pale wake-robins stood like pensive nuns 
Nodding their vespers in the cloistered light ; 
Around the knotted roots of storm-scarred trees 



AS MEMORY TELLS IT O'ER. jq- 

That held the nestlings of the saiHng hawk ; 
'Neath many a bridge the tossing winds had built, 
Within whose hoUoA? arches sleek-soled feet 
Of busy squirrels hastened to and fro, 

— O, happy bridges, that have never borne 
The heavier burden of the anxious soul, 
Nor bent beneath the tread of grinding care. 
Yet Sorrow's wings are long, their shadows fall 
On every spot where throbs life's mystery. — 
Last of her race, a trembling fugitive, 
The brown doe stayed her flying feet, and hushed 
Her panting sobs amid the listening ferns, 
And cooled her steaming muzzle in the brook ; 
While far below, and faint arose the cry 
Of fierce hounds throttling her spotted faw^n. 
Across the rushing tide the swift gray fox, 
In the lone night has borne his gasping prey; 
And there oft-times was heard the plaintive cry 
Of downy infants strangled in their nests, 
The wail of love bereft and comfortless. 

— All this was pictured on the brook, and more ; 
For one who learned its song, no matter how, 
Has heard within its broken murmurs all 
The love and longing of the human heart. 
And in its lisping syllables has caught 
The wail of an imprisoned soul ; and strange, 
Bright visions of eternity has seen 
Within its bubbles for an instant gleam. — 



IQg WILD WOOD CHIMES. 

On swept the singing brook, and where it checked 

Its headlong course beside a hazel copse 

Within a hollow where the shadows sat 

Muffling their shapeless forms the livelong day, 

A row of shallow basins held the cool 

Translucent bath of the shy kings of song 

Whose haunt is solitude. At twilight hour 

This spot was ever still, save for the cry — 

One oft-repeated note, low, soft, and long, 

Whose ling'ring sweetness could not hide its pain. 

Unseen that bird of twilight, and to me 

A voice it must remain forevermore. 

Then through the narrow meadows crept the brook 

With half its music gone, but keeping still 

The deep unquiet murmur of regret. 

Now purling softly to its willowed shores. 

And breaking into smiles on pebbly bars. 

— Canst thou not learn, O soul of many cares, 
The wisdom of the brook? What were this Hfe 
Without the ripple on its shingly bars. 
Beneath whose music failing hope grows young, 
And timid hearts are bathed in secret strength. — 
Then round the tufts of smooth green rushes borne, 
The eddying waters glide with ^Vhispered sigh 
Beneath the shadows of the '' daddy-tree." 
A giant tree, so old ! with rough brown bark 
Whose tortuous seams a dizzy highway made 
For toiling caravans of busy ants. 



AS MEMORY TELLS IT O'ER. iqq 

Three times the measure of my out-stretched arms 
Around its stem a girdle scarcely made ; 
And scores of merry children might rejoice 
Within its circled shadow all day long. 
And never mid-day sunshine found the bank 
O'er which the twisted branches bent to catch 
Their waving shadows in the stream below. 
There all day long the jump-up-johnnies held 
Their quaint blue aprons full of sparkling gems, 
And mocked with subtile breath the questing bee. 

— O, sweet blue violets, your long cool stems 

Are fit alike for childhood's dimpled hand 

To toss in garlands on the flashing wave, 

And for the pillow placed by sorrowing love 

With tenderest touch beneath undreaming heads — 

The great tree loved the brook. Its heavy roots 

Crept forth from the black mold, and twisting 'round 

In many shapes, grotesque and fanciful, 

Fell down in swinging curves into the stream, 

A mass of serpents twining in and out 

Among the polished stones whose smooth round heads 

The shrunken tide at harvest time laid bare 

To loitering feet which cross that stream no more. 



no WILDIVOOD CHIMES. 



11. 



I ask, O mortal, did you ever stand 

In the rose-gardens of the heart, and raise 

The crystal vase of pleasure brimming o'er 

With creaming liquor to your eager lips, 

But that some drop whose potent alchemy 

Not all that living sweetness could resist — 

One tiny drop from unseen fingers flung 

Into the rosy waters — quenched their light, 

And left a cold, unpalatable draught 

Which to the dregs your shrinking lips must quaff? 

You question why. The riddle is as old 

As life and love, and thev have solved it not. 



One cloud alone o'erhung the summer day, 

The shadow of a duty. Just beyond 

The reaching fingers of the daddy-tree, 

The fretted brook went swiftly swirling through 

A long-toothed water-gate. To meet the gate, 

On either side a heavy fence, secure, 

With firm-set stake and lofty rider, stretched 

Its zigzag length across from hill to hill. 

On one side lav the meadow land, the fields 



AS MEMORY TELLS IT O'ER. 



ill 



Of yellow wheat, and waves of silver rye, 

With many an emerald stripe of growing corn. 

There was the orchard, too, whose ancient trees, 

Knotted and gray and ringed about with holes, 

Had long outlived the planter's hand, 

Unpruned and moss-grown they, but bearing still 

Each year a liberal crop of " early sweets," 

On which the pale red streaks were dawning now, 

And "mealies," scores of which lay whitening 

And softening beneath the tangled grass. 

The pasture fields lay on the thither side, 

And from them many a wistful glance was cast 

Upon the promised land of corn and rye — 

The doom of Tantalus in modern guise, — 

Two panels wide the gaping portals stood 

Through which the creaking loads of grain and hay, 

At intervals went lumbering toward the barn, 

Followed apace by half the motley crew 

Of supplicants, a score of Mordecais 

That vexed me daily standing at the gate. 

Where 1, the keeper of the keys, endowed 

With brief authority enforced the law 

With willow switches, or with tough, straight stalks 

Of last year's ironweed. Unpleasing task 

To break the bond of rare good comradeshij) 

With hostile blow. The gentle cows, demure 

And sleek, the cherry-sided calves, with round 

Bright eyes and budding horns, the frisky colts 

That bowed their willing heads in feigned repose 



113 WILD WOOD CHIMES. 

While I the witch-knots in their manes untied, — 

Were each and all the children of the same 

Green, living earth that was my mother, too. 

By twos and threes, then singly still they came 

With lingering tread which furtive glance belied, 

Cropping the short sweet grass and clover heads, 

The tender shoots of shrubs, and spicy weeds 

'Circling the open gap, where in a mesh 

Of criss-cross shadows slanted from the fence, 

A most unwilhng desi)Ot held her court. 

Afar, from out the fields, the ringing clang 

Of whetted scythes came mingled with the din 

Of locusts rasping on their rusty files. 

The clear, sweet calling of " bob-white" from out 

His Eldorado of the scattered grain ; 

And from a steep, rough hill, where 'neath a cairn 

Of smooth gray stone, a local chronicle 

Some Indian graves had placed, was heard the wail. 

Uncertain, low, by mourning wood-doves made ; 

While from the house, far off upon the bluff, 

A singing voice I sometimes faintly heard. 

— My sister, many years the turf has lain 
Above thy gentle eyes ; and though my lips 
May seldom speak thy name, yet thou art still 
A living presence in my daily life. 
It needs not much, a tone, a fancied touch 
Like thine, a passing glint of sunny light 
On soft, brown hair, a bird-note, or a line 



AS MEMOR V TELLS IT O'ER. j j ^ 

Of some forgotten song — to bring again 

The clover-bank, and hum of bees, the breath 

Of milky bloom, the girlish form, too frail 

To anchor long beside this storm-swept shore, 

The cheek too pale, and the mild, steadfast light, — 

That far-off look, as if the spirit's gaze 

Entranced, dwelt evermore on things beyond 

The reach of mortal vision. Thou wast young 

And fair for death to claim. But the cold grave 

No terrors opened to thy trusting feet 

Which guided by the Lamp that failed them not, 

Entered the silent land that holds thee yet. 

Ah, life had never been for me the gnarled 

And tangled skein it is beneath thy hand. 

In the lone dusk and silences profound. 

From out its wordless deeps of solitude. 

My heart, uncomforted, still cries for thee. 

And in my utter selfishness I 've longed 

To call thee back from out the thither land, 

To feel the touch of thy dear tender hands. 

And hush the tumult of a nature wild 

And turbulent upon thy gentle breast. 

Still, when I strive to picture thee within 

The daily walks of life that others tread, — 

That thou hadst trod, beneficent and just. 

Encircled with thy gracious womanhood, — 

The forces fail; thou art so far apart 

From all the jar of living, the heart wear. 

And dreary sense of the unsatisfied 



114 



WILD WOOD CHIMES. 

Which like a canker frets us, day by day. 
Thou art the morning light of memory, 
The rainbow promise of perpetual peace 
Beyond the storms of time, where broken sails 
Are furled within the harbor bar of home. 



Til. 



And so the long hours widened into bloom. 
Like scarlet poppies nodding in the sun 
They drowsed to afternoon ; and tenantless 
The gap lay in the sweltering light. Besieged 
And the besiegers both were gone. Content 
Among the ashen willow stems, knee-deep 
In clear, blue pools the latter stood with calm 
Reflective mien ; or in the friendly shade 
Of elder thickets, canopied and wreathed 
With budding clematis and thick swamp vines. 
They found a refuge from tormenting flies; 

in the shadow of the big log barn 

They stood and further depredations planned. 
The latter ? On the lowest curving root 
Of the old daddy-tree, just where the voice 
Of the loved brook in softest whispers poured 
The dole of its sad longing at my feet, 

1 heard the chiming throbs of Nature's heart. 
And learned her cradle-song, though knowing not. 



AS MEMOR V TELLS IT O'ER. j j ^ 

Beneath my feet a school of minnows turned 
Their silver sides aslant, and slowly fanned 
Their striped fins, and through their rosy gills 
The 'cool sweet waters drew ; or darted forth — 
A pack of tiny, gray-backed water-wolves — 
With gaping mouths to seize the clover head 
Which a deceptive hand had tossed adrift. 
Beneath them on a bed of tinted stones, 
The shadowy crawfish took his backward way; 
And water-lizards with their yellow throats 
And freckled sides went flirting up and down. 
A brave, undoubting Peter, on the waves 
With hurried step the long-legged spider walked ; 
Upon his eight gray feet he surely wore 
The seven-league boots of old time fairy lore. 
And in an eddy where the light drift lay 
The dervish sunfish bugs were whirling 'round. 
Adown the stream with coppery head erect, 
His shining length in many a graceful curve. 
The water-snake on frequent voyage sailed. 
I watched him upward raise his slippery folds 
From root to root, and glide into the grass 
Unharmed. And hither came the dragon-fly 
With burnished wings and all-beholding eyes, 
A royal courier in green and gold 
Who skimmed along the beds of peppermint 
And pale pink bergamot, but tarried not. 
— Are they not all the King's own messengers 
Who fill the world with beauty, and delight 



ii6 



WILD WOOD CHIMES. 

The heart of man with loveHness and grace ? — 

Upon a log which high spring tide had cast 

Upon the bank, a blue-striped lizard baked 

His iridescent sides in the hot sun ; * 

While in and out beneath the broken bark 

Crept shining beetles with their branching horns 

And bead-like eyes ; and shrillest chirpings came 

Unceasingly from the loose stone-heaps near, 

Where colonies of black wood-crickets lived ; 

Some steps beyond, the deft field-spider sat 

Spinning her nets beneath a filmy tent. 

Above her in the hot and quivering air 

The tireless midges danced a dizzy jig. 

Upon a hollow stump the flick-up spread 

His golden wings, and shook his scarlet crest 

With energetic raps — the passing bell 

Of many a hapless worm. While o» the fence 

In mock solemnity's ill-fitting garb, 

Marauding crows a noisy council held. 

And shook the rainbows from their glossy plumes, 

And eyed with sidewise glance the tender corn. 

All lazily the hawk his circles wheeled 

At dizzy height in skies of cloudless blue, 

So far away his fierce scream ruffled not 

The calm of brooding birds within their nests ; 

And where belated heads of elder-bloom 

Above the shelving bank hung motionless. 

There faintly rose the intermittent croon 

Of resting bees that murmured drowsily 



AS MEMORY TELLS IT O'ER. j j- 

And shook the gold of elfland from their wings. 
Into the brook each loosened petal fell 
And on the shining wave, like sweet Elaine, 
All pale and fair to Camelot floated on. 

— Ah, dear dream-city of the heart, beyond 
Our searching gaze thy shining temples rise. 
Our reaching hands, our calling voices vain ; 
But some day, in the dim, uncertain light, 
All cold and dumb we shall go floating down 
To thy white gates. There royal fame, perchance. 
And pitying love will come, and gazing long 
The record of some tender grace may find, 
And give us knightly greeting, at the last. — 

Beneath the tree, upon the cool, soft grass 
At ease reclined, I watched the onward flow 
Of shining waters, till the stream asleep 
Within its narrow bed did seem to lie, 
And far away the droning voices grew, 
As all the summer land and I fled on. 

— Of Fairyland the skies are ever fair, 
And softly all its fragrant breezes blow. 
Within the oak-tree's ringed heart the hall 
With rosy splendor shone. Waist-deep in waves 
Of purple bloom the bold musicians stood ; 
And from each jeweled heart and golden flute 
The haunting melodies of Elfland rang. 



ii8 



IVILDIVOOD CHIMES. 

And like a cloud of airy thistle-down 

All soft and light, the elfin dancers sped. 

Then forth his witching bride Prince Charming led. 

Her sandaled feet were white as cherry bloom. 

A fretted rainbow clad her lissome form ; 

And in her happy eyes that looked on him 

The tender grace of love's bright morning shone. 

The spirit of the sun was in her hair, 

And music's mystery and dear delight 

Like hidden nightingales sang in her voice. 

While faint and far the listening echoes rang. 

I watched — 

But what is this ? In sudden whirl 
Of glancing lights and din of swift, bright blades. 
The revel sank; and gone were they, the hall, 
The prince, the lady fair. Through surging waves 
Of veiling mist a gleaming shape uprose, 
And nearer came the tread of stealthy feet, 
And — Could it be? It was. In frantic haste 
A Devon heifer cropped the juicy corn; 
And on her footsteps came a lawless rout. 
The eaters of forbidden fruit, which 1 
Must straightway banish with a willow wand. 
All in good season, too, for yonder came 
A groaning freight by patient oxen drawn, 
Whose whistling driver slouched his bandless hat. 
And showered epithets of ire and scorn 
Upon the plodding creatures at his side. 
Along his 1)ath the milkweeds headless grew ; 



AS ME MO J? V TELLS IT O'ER. j j g 

The brooding sparrow chirped in dire distress, 

And for his life the striped squirrel fled 

Into the stone-heap near ; and knowing cows 

About the gap, discreetly walked away. 

But I half guiltily drew near and scanned 

With calculating eyes the approaching form 

Whose sagging pockets never empty were. 

All things they held, from baby terrapins, 

Kidnaped upon the hills, mud-turtles wee. 

With scalloped shells, snake eggs and squirrel teeth, 

Sweet-knots torn from the beech, and shining bits 

Of phosphorescent wood, sharp arrow-heads, 

Canoes of poplar bark, and whistles shrill 

Of smooth white walnut made — to fairer freight 

Of apples and red plums, hill grapes and nuts, 

Adam-and-Eves with white and gluey bulbs, 

And bluebell roots found on the way to mill. — 

All these, in turn, found favor in my eyes. 

But memory of a thousand teasing pranks 

Some caution lent, and tempered the rephes 

To autocratic questionings like these : 

''Where have you been?" ''Noplace." "Then, 

where were you 
When I came through the gap, two hours ago ?" 
" Why — sitting in the shadow, over there." 
" Then why did you not answer when I called ?" 
" I — didn't hear. I wasn't listening." 
" You've been asleep! " "I haven't ; no, indeed, 
I was just thinking in the shade." " O, ho ! 



J20 WILD WOOD CHIMES. 

You look like you'd been thinking pretty hard. 
But not an apple have I for a girl 
Who thinks too hard to answer when I call, 
/think I shall just feed them to the calves." 
'' Well, I don't really, for certain, know " — 
'* Own up,. you were asleep." "-Maybe I was 
Asleep for just a minute, but no more." 
No further conference ; observant eyes 
Afar had seen the loitering team, and clear 
Admonitory words came o'er the field. 
And startled by a swift vindictive jerk, 
Against the creaking bows the oxen leaned 
Their bulky weight, and with reluctant tread 
Moved onward toward the bark ; nor unconsoled 
Was left the greedy guardian of the gap. 

— Minding the gaps of life's wide harvest field, 
1 watch the reapers in the clear noon light 
Binding the golden sheaves. No idler, there. 
Art thou, my brother ; faithfully and well 
Thy hands have toiled, and never heart more brave 
And true the burden of the weary day 
Unshrinkingly hath borne. 

The hopes of youth 
Like flocks of singing birds in summer lanes, 
Through sheen and shade flit onward joyously. 
On every side there shines a beacon light, 
And every pathway leads to fairer heights. 



AS MEMORY TELLS IT O'ER. jgj 

But Step by step, we find the hidden snares, 
The sleeping lions rouse ; and soon our hearts 
Have grown familiar to the touch of pain. 
And her black garments shadow all our steps. 
Then he alone is great who pausing not 
To count the graves of his departed joys, 
Moves onward in the bare, unlovely path 
Where Duty beckons him, and looks not back, 
O, thou veiled Spirit, though thy clasp is cold, 
And thy voice stern and harsh, the way is firm 
And safe beneath the feet where thou dost lead. 
Within thy footprints hes a secret strength; 
From thy white garments healing odors waft, 
And he alone is blest who follows thee. — 



IV. 



The day grew old; and gentle silence laid 

Her finger on die pulsing harp of Hfe. 

Asleep within his den of polished stones 

The darting craw-fish lay. The whirr and hum 

Of busy insect life grew strangely still. 

By twos and threes the solemn crows went home 

To the deep woods, whence rose the waking sigh 

Of night winds dreaming in their spicy lair ; 

And fast the rising shadows chased the sun 

From point to point, until the last red gleam 



WILD WOOD CHIMES. 

On tip-toe stood upon the highest rock. 

And twilight soon o'er all the valley lay. 

But still the creaking loads went lumbering by, 

And still more wistful glances followed them. 

Open the gap remained. And now strange sounds 

From out the copse above the orchard field — 

A low, foreboding cry, uncertain, sad, 

And ghostly chatterings, and shivering moans, 

Through every nerve uncanny crawlings sent. 

An owl ? Why, yes ; of course, a harmless owl, 

With speckled breast and soft fur-booted feet. 

And yet — might it not be some gruesome thing 

With fleshless limbs in winding garments wrapped ? 

For sunken graves were on the narrow bluff 

Where first the climbing hill sat down to rest. 

And startled memory sped on rapid wing 

To stories told beside the blazing fires 

On winter nights, when from the clearings came 

The hired men, and each with chair atilt, 

And brimming over with the triple joy 

Of rest and food and warmth, rehearsed each dark 

And ghoulish mystery that "Pap" had seen, 

That "Granny" dreampt, or "Uncle Dave" had 

heard. 
Ah, never silver tongue of saint or sage 
Such breathless listener had. I speak for one 
On clean-cleft logs of hickory and beech 
Against the ample chimney-rock curled up, 
A chubby Cinderella, dreaming not 



AS MEMORY TELLS IT O'ER. ^^-i 

Of ball nor coming prince ; but with a great 

Capacity for tales of yawning graves, 

Of grinning bones, and pale, sulphuric lights, 

Who listening sat with slowly rising hair. 

The roasting apple on its wooden legs 

Careened and fell unheeded to the hearth 

And in the leaden ashes sputtering lay. 

The tempting rivulets of sticky sweet 

Untasted from the hickory forestick fell ; 

And the forgotten crickets vainly chirped 

Beside the jamb for the accustomed crumbs. 

The crackling myriads of shining sparks 

Up the wide-throated chimney swiftly flew, 

And no one thought to wish that they were showers 

Of golden dollars, all her very own. 

And when the covered embers smoldered low 

On the deserted hearth, with head beneath 

The close-drawn counterpane, what horrid sights 

The dreaming eyes still saw, of headless men 

In bloody shrouds arrayed, who joined the throng 

Of grinning skeletons in dizzy whirl ; 

Of icy, strangling hands that ever strove 

To drag the covers from the trundle-bed ; 

Of fiendish revelries of witch and ghoul 

Which scarce the welcome light of dawn dispelled. 

How fast the shadows thicken, and how near, 
O, dear ! how very near the ghostland lies. 
For had not old Aunt Katy seen arise 



124 



WILD WOOD CHIMES. 

From yonder very spot a flaming ball 

Whose baleful light turned midnight into day, 

And heard a hollow rattle as of clods 

Upon the lids of empty coffins cast, 

While close beside the window howled the dog 

Because he heard the unquiet dead astir ? 

And why might not some dread unsightly thing 

Whose bones no marrow hold, wand'ring in search 

Of missing records or ill-gotten pelf 

By some perverse, mistaken fate find me ? 

But not alone, O, no ! With flying feet 

Into the pasture, through the hated gap 

I fled, where in the dusk the cattle stood. 

Their sleek sides heaving with the placid sighs 

Of restful rumination. Close beside 

A speckled beauty crouching, O what joy 

To feel the smooth sharp horns, and softly stroke 

The tuft of curling hair between her eyes 

To smell the rich-weed, and the late sweet growth 

Of clover in her steamy breath, and feel 

The friendly grating of her slender tongue 

Around my fingers o'er and o'er again ; 

And in this dumb companionship to lose 

My useless terrors, and the dead forget. 

— Ah, poor forgotten dead I For you there lives 
An aching pity deep within my heart. 
Your little world lay in the gentle bounds 
Of those encircling hills. Your brawny arms 



AS MEMORY TELLS IT O'ER. j2r 

From the unbroken wild those meadows w^on. 

With patient labor, day by day, you wrought 

The homely texture of your quiet lives, 

Waiting the summons to the silent land. 

Whether at dawn the golden bowl is rent^ 

Or pitcher broken at the noon fount lies, 

Or in the closing dusk the silver cord 

Is gently loosened from its earthly stay — 

The messenger is sure ; we must obey. 

To sightless eye and palsied frame of age 

Welcome the refuge of the friendly tomb ; 

And childhood with one brief, regretful sigh 

Its wondering eyes close in the dreamless sleep — 

So slight the threads which bind it to the earth. 

But weep for them — thy children, pitying earth, 

Who in the royal ♦vigor of their days, 

While sweet the million-throated ecstasies 

Of living sang in every thrilling nerve, 

The summons heard ; and with reluctant feet 

Leaving the tender warmth of light and love 

The dreary threshold of oblivion crossed. 

For them on Fame's far height no watch-light shone, 

Their humble names her clarion voice ne'er breathed, 

Nor yet in song or story lives their tale ; 

Yet these were theirs — the ministering hand 

And watchful eye of love, the hope of life 

Beyond the darkness with the risen Christ. 

Not long, ye silent ones, the voice of love 

Outside those dreary lodgings called to you. 



J 26 IVILDWOOD CHIMES. 

Forgotten are your very names. The roots 

Of sturdy saplings feast upon your mold ; 

So thick they stand, entwined with clasping vines 

And thorny brambles, that the bounding hare 

Beneath them seeks a covert from her foe. 

Here, in the early spring the budding shoots 

Of hickory unfold their scarlet sheaths, 

The sassafras its yellow fringes shake, 

And shy, sweet flowers bow their tinted heads. 

Here in the autumn noon the sumac flaunts 

Its fiery banner in the hazy light, 

The golden-rod its lavish riches spread. 

And palest asters hail the passing year. 

And does it matter that no crumbling stone 

Remains your brief memorial to bear ? 

The earth lies in the hollow of His hand ; 

The humblest dust its bosom can not hide 

From quickening light of Resurrection morn. — 

Beneath the soft wings of the starry night 
The weary world had crept. Within the house' 
The lights were out, and gentle shadows wove 
Their subtle ministries above the lids 
Of sleeping eyes. Outside upon the step 
The watch-dog stretched his brindled length 
In fitful slumberings. The whippoorwill 
From the far hill his plaintive greeting sent, 
And crooning voice of waters answered him ; 
All else was still. 



THE CHI EFT A IN' S B URIAL. j ^ ^ 

The dream is dead. Low in the western sky 

The dark clouds lighten, and the sun looks forth. 

Across the hills his rosy banners trail 

The written promise of a fairer dawn. 

No winding sheet is this soft covering 

Beneath whose kindly cloak the hearts of bloom 

Are throbbing warm and strong. The winds are dead . 

And in the hush I seem to hear the voice 

Of birds that shake their downy wings and call 

Within the crab-tree's boughs of fragrant pink. 

And deep within this frozen solitude 

I know th^ veiled Life lies as if in sleep, 

Her pale hands clasping close her silken vest, 

Her lips all cold and motionless ; but soft 

And warm her gende heart is beating yet ; 

And through the closed lids her dreaming eyes 

Look upward for the dawn. And shalt not thou, 

O, doubting soul of man, look upward, too ? 



THE CHIEFTAIN'S BURL\L. 

Xl/HOSE silent forms beneath the dim 

' ^ Uncertain stars of midnight tread 
The winding river's solemn shore. 
Bearing the pale uncoffined dead ? 
The primal forest's vaulted gloom 
Receives within its purple breast 



128 



IVILDWOOD CHIMES. 

The cautious steps of those who bear 
The chieftam to his dreamless rest 
In that deep stream whose ceaseless surge 
Alone shall be his funeral dirge. 

No rolling mass nor requiem 

In choral harmonies arise, 

Nor measured beat of muffled drum 

Upon the wakeful night wind sighs ; 

Yet mournfully the heavy dew 

Its murmur drops from leaf to leaf 

And mingles with the bitter tears 

Of deep and unavailing grief, 

Expressed in many a stifled sigh 

From man's unspoken agony. 

From the wide, bannered halls afar 
There comes no whisper of the home 
Where loving hearts shall long await 
The footsteps that shall never come. 
Yet, swell thy harmonies, O Fame, 
August achievement's fitting meed. 
Who in the triumph of a world 
Will reck of hearts that break or bleed ? 
Who 'neath progression's blazing beam 
Will mourn a woman's broken dream ? 

A deeper shadow on the stream, 
A circling wave that drifted wide, 
A broken prayer, and then, alone 
The sullen moaning of the tide. 



HEPATIC A. J 20 

No mark to show where those who wept 
Again may pause to drop a tear ; 
Yet Glory sits with folded wings 
Beside that hero's sepulcher 
Whose mighty current's ceaseless song 
Still rolls his memory along. 



HEPATICA. 



T 



HROUGH changing time, year after year, 
At the old tryst thou meet'st me here, 
Sweetheart, thyself unchanged and fair 
With brave true eyes and fringy hair. 
And evanescent, strange perfume 
Enwrapped within thy tinted bloom. 

The kindly forests well did keep 
The secret of thy winter sleep, 
And russet coverlet it spread 
With loving hand above thy head. 
Through the long night this sturdy tree 
A faithful watch kept over thee. 

And ere the blue-bird's glancing wing 
Announced the coming of the spring, 
Again to fairer beauty born. 



130 



WILDWOOD CHIMES. 

Thou art risen on this Easter morn 
In the wild March when singing shrill 
The storm-winds break against the hill. 

But yesterday I brought to thee 

A child's heart beating high and free, 

A footstep swift as swallow's flight, 

A child's unquestioning delight, 

And all the strange bright hopes that rise 

Like singing birds 'neath April skies. 

But yesterday the shining rill 
Came laughing from the craggy hill; 
So near, so clear its voices seem 
The hollow years are but a dream 
That slowly weaves its shadowy bands 
About the Springtime's flowery lands. 

The weary brain, the heart of care 
In thy graVe-clothes are buried there ; 
And in the chill March Easter morn 
Again, within my bosom born 
The child-soul rises joyously, 
Hepatica, to welcome thee. 



AT THE SPRING. j^j 



AT THE SPRING. 

a r^RINK, O drink and come again ! 
^^ Bending with the crystal cup 
Where the Avater bubbled up 
From its subterranean den, 

In the spring-tide of the year*, 
Yellow down on every thing, 
Bursting bud and callow wing — 

Friend of mine, your voice I hear, 

Resting here beside the spring 
While the merry-hearted rout 
Wandering the wood about 

Hither all their treasures bring. 

Fringes of the maiden-hair, 

Pale wood-lilies, dainty bells 

Rifled from the secret dells, 
Mosses, ferns and lichens rare. 

Song and laughter every-where ; 

Merry jest and quick reply. 

Gentle greeting wafted by 
On the blue-tinged mountain air. 



132 



WILDWOOD CHIMES. 



Come again ? Ah, nevermore 1 
Still, maybe thine earnest eyes 
Now look down from Paradise 

On this spot beloved of yore. 



HUNTING THE COWS. 



A 1 /"E crossed the creek above the mill ; 
' ' And where the footpath climbed the hill 



We turned to watch the water-wheel 
Forever like a giant reel 

Winding the silvery waters bright 
In tangled skeins of broken light, 

And listen to the whirring sound 

With which the mighty burrs went 'round; 

While powdered white from crown to sole 
The honest miller took his toll. 

Gone is the miller ; 'neath the hill 
His kindly heart lies cold and still ; 

His busy wife, so hale and fair, 
In silence rests beside him there. 



HUNTING THE COWS. 

We saw the martins dip and skim 
Along the water's rippled brim, 

And like a flash of purple light 
Vanish in clouds of dazzling white. 

We loitered in the steep ravine 
On fragrant tufts of softest green ; 

And plucked wild cherries in the shade 
The wide, fruit-ladened branches made ; 

Then paused upon the brushy slope 
To cut a grapevine skipping-rope. 

Low in the west the sinking sun 
A million golden cobwebs spun, 

As upward by the winding ways 
We followed his ascending rays, 

Still gathering treasures old and new 
Till sagging pockets heavy grew. 

Then weary with the boodess quest 
We sat down on the hill to rest. 

Upon a dark-ringed stump we spread 
Our treasure-trove, and gayly said : 



m 



,^, WILDWOOD CHIMES. 

" We'll leave them here, to-night, and then 
On some day soon, we'll come again." 

Ah, sweet Some-day ! within it lies 
Enshrouded from all mortal eyes 

More riches than the world can hold, 
The joys this life may not unfold. 

It seems so near ; it lies so far, 
Its dawn is golden as the star 

That leads the martial host on high. 
" Dear Fate, be merciful," we cry. 

" Not yet — too soon," her voice replies. 
A moment, then, "Too late," she sighs. 

The katydids w^ere piping shrill, 

And through the woodland crept a chill, 

And spirit-fingers in the vales 
Were weaving twilight's purple sails. 

We heard the birches' whispered sigh. 
The bird-of-evening's plaintive cry ; 

And faintly from the darkest dell, 
The welcome jingle of a bell. 



HUNTING THE COWS. 

But frowning in the darkened wood 
A host of giant shadows stood; 

And silent now with secret dread 
Adown thehill we swiftly sped, 

While fast upon the stirring wind 
The Erl-king followed close behind. 

The Great Bear rolled his shining eyes 
Upon us from the bended skies, 

And from the west the crescent moon 
O'er lucky shoulder cast her boon, 

When weary with our wanderings late 
We stood beside the milking-gate. 



135 



THE END. 






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